L is for Letting Go

the challenge

L is for Letting Go

This is a tender topic for me, something that's hard for me to do personally, and I'm sure was hard for my mother before me. When you've done the best that you can, when you've given something or someone your all, there comes a time when you have to let it/them go. 

For mothers all over the world, this is a terrible balancing act. When and how do they let go? Baby birds learn to fly at great personal risk, and mothers must watch helplessly. But the truth behind the questions of how and when is that it isn't up to us. There comes a time when children stand up and say, "I am me. You are you. I'm going now. This is my next step into the world." 

Whether we let go or not, the time comes when our white-knuckled grasp is only holding air. 

It's this way with art, too. Like children, art comes from a very tender, private place inside us. It is cultivated by our love and attention. It is shaped by us, as much as it is within our talents and power, to resemble what we think it ought to be. And when we've done our best, given our all, it's time to let go. 

For authors lucky and determined enough to have publishing contracts or self-publishing release dates, that time is a specific date. For them, letting go is a fixed affair. "On this day I will send my book baby into the world, come what may." You see a lot of posts to this effect on twitter and facebook. Authors say, "I've done it. It's release day. I'm sending it out into the world. I hope you love it." 

But you can't make them love it. You can't even make them understand it. People will misunderstand your art, just as they will insist on misunderstanding you. People will chop up your work, quote it or paraphrase it out of context, make you look silly (sparkly vampires). People will snark about what is sacred to you, make themselves seem clever while tearing you down. It's what people do sometimes. 

People may review the earliest edition of your self-published book (as happened to a very vocal disgruntled writer a few years back). They may reprint your typos and call them stupidity. 

And they will do all of this without asking for your permission. 

Let it go.

Then there are artists like me. I'm not published, and I haven't published myself. I've talked about it. I've thought about it, but I'm just not ready. Some of my closest friends and family say, "Let it go." Just put your art out into the world and let it be read, even when it's not perfect. I resist. I want it to be perfect. I want it to be without flaws. I want to "avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule" (Darcy).

Some painters swipe and brush away at their favorite pieces in the lamp-lit corners of their houses, never portraying their art to the community because all they can see are the flaws. I don't want to be that. But I also want my "debut" to be auspicious and what they call promising. I want to be read and appreciated and most of all understood. 

So I can understand if even a traditionally published author has trouble, because I feel it, too, the resistance, as tight as a rubber band, to the notion, the pull against gravity, telling me to

Let it go.

You Want Me to Change WHAT?

We all know how important it is to accept criticism of our work gracefully. After all, readers, critique partners, and agents are only trying to help us make our book the best it can be. We're all in this business because we love story! So why is it so hard to accept criticism? I think there are a few reasons:

• Deep down, what we really want when we share our work is for people to say it's perfect, because that would mean that WE'RE perfect, which is perfect. 
• Sometimes criticism is simply a matter of opinion. Therefore, it's easy to extrapolate that out to: all criticism is wrong opinion!
• We have an idea of what we're willing to change in our story (the protagonist's favorite color, a side character's foreign accent, the sequence of events leading up to the climax). When someone dares to suggest we change anything BEYOND that, it's horrifying. What?! You want me to change the point of view? The tense? The climax? The age--and therefore entire setting--of my characters? 

NO!! cries the inner delicate flower that is our writing soul. Say it ain't so!!

But it is so. That's why we submitted the book for critique in the first place. We knew there were imperfections that needed weeding out. We even guessed there might be structural problems. We just weren't sure how to fix them. That's where the critical reader came into the picture with advice we weren't quite ready to receive.

Did we shoot the messenger?

Today I vow to make a greater effort to accept literary criticism with grace and appreciation, with an eye toward improving the story at all costs--even if it means rewriting the whole darn thing! 

And above all, I will not shoot the messenger!

Want to join my e-pact? You don't need to sign your name. Just whisper the above vow to yourself (or say it in your head if your cat is giving you a look). Nobody will know but you. And you're the only one who needs to.