Thick Skin Or Fluid?
Henry Houdini died of complications of being punched in the stomach by a fan. He had rock hard abs, known for his ability to take a hit, and was asked by a larger man if he could try socking him. Houdini agreed, but before he could brace himself, the fan struck, doing serious damage to the escape artist’s unprepared insides.
You’ll hear me say
I don’t like the approach most people advocate in criticism: The antagonistic
relationship between writer and reader, the succinct and sweet social
politeness, the demand that you take hostility as it comes, else you’re not
good at what you do.
I’m sensitive, that
much can be determined from a few posts, but that’s not why I recommend against
the, “Just smile and say thank you,” philosophy. Thick skin implies the author
brace himself, take it at full force, and keep on trucking without a moment to
heal. Good writers don’t let little
things like irrational hostility phase them, right?
Wrong. It’s not
even just an issue of why put up with that if you don’t have to, but that
rolling with the punches, instead of bracing for them, tends to work better.
You go with the motion instead of fighting it, and, by being flexible, you can
guide and control the situation better.
When being
critiqued, have a real conversation. Listen to what’s being said, recognize how
it affects you, and go with it. Instead of being strong and brave, be tactful
and honest. Ask questions, try to understand, and speak your disagreements in a
clear and useful manner.
But I’ve written
about this before, and this isn’t just a repeat. In fact, I’m here to stand
behind the opposite of my usual opinion: sometimes it is better to just stand there and take it, to move on without
nursing your wounds. Sometimes you have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt you if
you want it to actually not hurt you.
Truth be told, I’ve
doubted my interested in becoming a successful writer for some time now. I
wanted to connect with readers, to be read, but I don’t like how easy it is for
someone’s hostility to influence me throughout the day. The second you get
noticed, the second you are more likely to fall into a person’s line of sight
at the exact wrong time. People will get angry with you (hell, I’ll get angry with you) for the
dumbest, most trivial, or even non-reasons. In fact, I believe that most times
someone is upset with you, it’s not about you at all.
Of course, I say
that as someone who has struggled with anger the last two years. Perhaps it’s
merely projection.
Guilt can paralyze
me. It turns me into a doormat. The biggest mistakes I’ve made were when I
thought I owed someone something, or when I thought I had made a mistake when,
in reality, it was likely to be a two-way street. It is rare (although this
makes sense) that I ever see a bad experience as just being someone else’s
shitty day and not something I could control.
But successful
people? Happy people? They don’t let their mistakes get them down. They are
more likely to dismiss assholes as fools and move on with their life. Sure,
they make the obvious mistakes, are less likely to be observant and are more
likely to irritatingly impose their will or attitude onto others, yet it’s not
as big of a deal as I like to make it out to be.
It’s not the end of
the world to make someone mad. It’s not the end of the world to mildly irritate
them. And, in some cases, it really doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s
not your fault, and they’ll do better if you just ignore them and move on with
your life.
I say this as a
warning to anyone who wants to self-improve, who wishes to be less of an
egomaniac and more empathetic: sometimes other people’s opinions really aren’t
your problem.
I’ve heard people
say authors need thick skin since the dawn of my career, but it wasn’t until
today that I really find it to be true. As I focused on letting people in,
trying to understand their perspective, improving myself, and having open and
informing conversations with others, I was allowing myself to be affected by
them.
By wondering too
much on where they were coming from, I dug deeper and deeper into the events
that disturbed me. I should have been focusing on some positivity, what went
right. By talking about my feelings and seeking out understanding from my
rants, I kept repaving the path to those, often trivial memories.
My first really
hurtful criticism took me years to get over. Today, I think back on it and feel
very little. I made some begrudging changes to my style because of it, which I
am happier for, but, more importantly, I learned that some of what I was told,
a lot of what really disturbed me, actually was the half-hearted musings of a
woman with different tastes and low patience. It really didn’t matter. I read
through those critiques constantly, for months, asked others about them, reran
arguments in my head, thought about why, why, why, until I was blue in the
face. It wasn’t until I happened across her critiques one last time and
realized that there was nothing left in them for me, that I threw them away and
began my ability to move on to other considerations.
Being fluid to
adversity helps with creativity and learning. Instead of just taking it “like a
man,” which honestly could do some real damage (and not just to your morale), a
lot of times you need to move with your critique, learn when to push back and
pull away, and really think about the criticism given. But other times, you
need to learn when to walk away and move on with your life, to just take the
hit and then act as it never bothered you at all.
If you liked this post, want to support, contact, stalk, or argue with me, please consider...
Liking Charley Daveler on Facebook
Following What's Worse than Was
