Open to Criticism, Part 2

Posted by J. Mark Bertrand
on Friday, November 17, 2006
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The worst thing about criticism is not getting any. I try to remind myself of that when I find myself being dismissed, misinterpreted, slandered or insulted. All criticism is good in the sense that you're provoking a reaction, and that reaction tells you as much about the critic as about yourself. That doesn't mean you should adopt the habit of some, dismissing all criticism as the perverse offspring of the critic's own resentments and inadequacies. I want to make a case for listening to critics, even when you don't like what they're saying.

Criticism helps you improve. It's no accident that the staple of creative writing programs is the workshop. More than a few times in my academic experience, I would have preferred to share my work exclusively with the professor. After all, he was the expert. What could my fellow students offer in terms of advice? They were as clueless as I was. But it wasn't until I started working on my creative thesis that I got the kind of exclusive, one-on-one advice I was looking for. Why? Because the workshop experience had lessons to teach me. In addition to its principal skin-thickening benefit, the workshop showed me that, as satisfied as I was with my first drafts, they could be substantially improved through revision. And when I could walk out of a workshop without feeling I had to start over from scratch, I knew I'd accomplished something.

Sometimes criticism has a more general focus. There are debates about literary and genre fiction, debates about faith and fiction, debates about the practical side of publishing. Because they go on and on, it's not surprising we get sick of them. But I still think there is much to learn. My views on these an other hot topics have been substantially re-shaped over the years by listening to criticism. While I'm no expert, by putting my views out there and letting them be jabbed and rebutted, I've managed to get insight from many people who are experts, and it has helped me to no end. This doesn't mean I agree with all the criticism I've received, but I've definitely improved as a result. The last thing I'd want to do is squelch, silence or sideline these voices. In part because . . .

Criticism offers a look inside someone else's head. People who turn a deaf ear to criticism are the first to embrace straw men. They have to, really, because they have so small an understanding of what others actually think. When someone takes the time to interact with your work, the result is a gift. You're getting a peak inside someone else's head -- and the results may surprise you. When I write, there are effects I'm hoping to achieve, lines I hope will provoke certain reactions. Criticism gives me a chance to see if I'm hitting or missing. (In some cases, the same line manages both to hit and miss.)

I like to know as much as possible about the people who criticize me, so I can give their perspectives some context. Like everyone, I dismiss some criticism out of hand because of the source. If you write poorly, I'm not going to be interested in your views on craft. (But if you've managed to publish and sell a bunch of books while writing that way, I'm definitely going to be interested in your views on marketing!) As I grow into my little niche in this world, I find myself listening to more and more people I would have previously dismissed, and here's why . . .

Criticism puts you in your place. It starts by crushing you, even when it's largely positive. A young writer can hear ninety-nine good things and be gutted by the one negative. But as that skin thickens and you come into your own, there's a certain hubris that kicks in. You start congratulating yourself on what you've achieved on the page, and you forget what you've failed to pull off (or even attempt). The more successful you are, the higher your reputation soars, the more useful criticism becomes. It's like a hair shirt, mortifying not the flesh but the ego. And reminding you that . . .

Open, articulate disagreement is a good thing. The people who worry me are the ones who react to disagreement by trying to silence them. In the church, these are the folks who want to treat doctrines not as truth statements but as cultural identity markers. In the arts, they get their hackles up when anyone makes value judgments or questions the status quo. No matter how counter-cultural or avant garde we fancy ourselves to be, there is always an overwhelming pressure not to rock the ideological boat. As a result, all criticism is dismissed as the adolecent ravings of the ignorant. The dissent is so destabilizing, so threatening, that it mustn't be given a moment's creedance.

This, of course, is the highest expression of insecurity, a telling sign -- either of weakness or the reluctance to explain and defend one's views.

And it ignores the fact that passionate, well-articulated disagreement is the most fertile intellectual ground known to man. If your critics remain silent, your own perspective will retain its initial inchoate form. But when we push and others push back, we're forced to think and re-think, to jettison the error we've winked at and push on to a purer, truer position. Far from hurting you, criticism actually strengthens you when you engage with it. Because the point isn't to win; it's to hold a true belief.

If you're interested in the truth, you have nothing to fear from criticism. If you want to improve, criticism -- even the negative sort -- is ultimately your friend. Open your ears to criticism and you may be surprised at what you find. Once you're past the initial discouragement, your critics might actually inspire you to heights that your well-meaning friends never will.