Yesterday's post on alpha readers was inspired by a conversation I had with a writer-friend of mine. I had just finished proofing some poetry and prose that she was sending off to a competition, and in the midst of some disappointment, she said: 

"Everything I write, it's brilliant, and then I give it to you and it's a piece of shit."

I can relate to that. I had a scriptwriting teacher in university who would start each workshop session with everyone repeating the mantra "My work is a piece of shit, my work is a piece of shit" in tones reserved for reverential supplication. After that, no one was allowed to mention how bad they felt their work was. We'd all already said it; yours wasn't allowed to be worse than anyone else's. Luckily, that particular class was pretty cluey to the practise of fishing for writerly compliments by protesting the tragic terribleness of the work. That sort of thing didn't fly, though it was fun to see a few hopefuls trying. That wonderful teacher simply looked at them, and asked

"Well, if you think it's so irredeemable, why are we wasting our time on it?"

Nobody else dared fish again in that class. It was refreshingly honest. 

It's an odd double-think, though. We finish a story or a poem, and it feels brilliant. It sparkles, it trails fire in the mind when we read it, it thrills and grabs and inspires and provokes. 

And then we give it to someone else, and it instantly becomes flat, lifeless, overwritten, underdeveloped, pallid, stodgy, cliche-ridden, not-entirely-sensicle excrement on paper.  It was brilliant and esquisite, until it was observed by someone else. 

 And the truth of it is, as we know, most likely somewhere in between. Patches of genuinely good stuff, areas that could be better. The apparent switch is simply our own self-protection mechanism, lowering our own expectations so that when the inevitable "but" comes after "I really liked it...", we're prepared. It doesn't hurt too much, because we instantly switch to expecting the worst. When you're waiting for the universe to tear it to shreds, having someone point out that page 2 is a little slow, and they didn't follow page 8 is far more bearable.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. I would far rather be someone who thought less of my writing than it deserved than someone who thought more (and I'm pretty sure I've been both). The despair and depression that accompanies someone else's eyes on our own work is hardly pleasant, however.

I've found it helps to accept that as part of the process. To accept that, as my friend puts it, anything I give to anyone to read will instantly be shit, and the amount of shittiness is directly related to how much I care that they like it. And that this isn't a reflection of the work, it isn't a sudden clarity of mind that allows me to perceive so many weaknesses and errors. It's simply my mind knowing there's a sledgehammer about to hit my writer's ego, and telling my ego to curl up small to be less of a target. The feeling will pass, and I'll get on with the work. But the best way to counteract this feeling, I've found?

Go start writing something else.