For a writer his or her work is like a child, something coming from labor and sweat and, sometimes, tears. And pain, excruciating pain. One leaves a soul particle in those words because each letter comes from experience or dream but, inherently, from within.
For parents their baby is the most beautiful baby in the universe, lazy eye included. Moreover, it’s their right to believe so, since they see their progeny with the eyes of love.
From time to time, someone will come and say, “That’s not a cute kid.”
My question would be then; are you going to go into fisticuffs with every single person that doesn’t think your little bundle of joy is as beautiful as you perceive it?
There would be brawls left and right every single minute around this big, blue rock, because no matter how much plastic surgery your body could accept, your genes are immutable.
Out of politeness, many times, people will keep their comments for themselves, but, seriously, not every single person has the level of censorship to shut his mouth upon certain less graceful infants.
Enough of Toddlers and Tiaras.
Your written work is not your child, and it ought to be open to criticism and perception. The scandal of Michel Angelo painting naked bodies on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is forgotten today, and everybody admires it, but there were campaigns to destroy this masterpiece. Google. It.
Not everybody has to like every think you write. If you are lucky enough to always touch that little neuron that inspires awe, good for you. Persons exist who don’t like Hemingway, for crying out loud.
Never to mention the bestselling book of all times. Yeah, you know which one.
I’m not going to say that it doesn’t hurt, because it does and big time. However, each individual is entitled to his or her opinion, no matter how crazy-eyed and mouth-drooling that opinion is (according to us, creators of the written stroke of genius), it’s their God-given right.
When we expose that part of us, it’s not going to be embraced and praised on every occasion. Maybe, it is not as shinny as we thought it was. Perhaps, it doesn’t have the big muscles and striking blue eyes, we were seeing when we sent it to the wisdom of the masses. Those enticing curves and luxurious, long hair were not there after all. Just because your creature is not as sublime as you thought it was, in the eyes of John Doe or Mary J (bleep), does not imply you need to throw a hissy fit. Grow. Up.
It’s known that artists are temperamental, and in every creative circle divas abound, but the ability to beget beauty must come with the grace to accept that it will not touch all with the same finger.
It doesn’t matter how many hours or days or months or years you put into the effort of bringing it to completion, at least one person, somewhere --perhaps in Timbuktu, perhaps in your neighborhood--, is not going to like it.
And thou shalt drink that drink, making faces and everything, until the last drop.
Welcome thee to Fear Factor.
I hope NBC doesn’t sue me for being a smartass. Kudos TLC.
Nevertheless, you cannot shield a statue, placed at a park, from the elements (and the shitty birds, darling) as much as you cannot shield it from the wonder or scorn of the passersby.