People who create art for a living have to be prepared that people won’t like their work

I have been thinking a lot about criticism recently.

No, of course it has nothing to do with the fact that my third novel, Almost Love, is due to be released on March 1.

How strange that you would conflate my insomnia, bitten fingernails, and obsession with reviews with my upcoming publication date! (Please remember that a review is only one person’s opinion, and that person isn’t infallible. Unless it’s a positive review in which case they’re a genius and should be treated as such.)

I’m someone who has always tended to be self-critical, holding myself to impossible standards. When I failed to be ‘perfect’, as I inevitably did, I berated myself harshly.

I was, for many years, also terrified of being criticised by others, which is why I had the brilliant idea to become an author, where criticism is an intrinsic part of the job. (I am... not that smart.) I wanted to write for years but it wasn’t until I read The Artist’s Way that I learned techniques to help silence the Inner Critic.

You have to ignore that niggling anxiety that you’re not good enough because perfection, as they say, is the enemy of creativity.

It’s an odd balance, striving to be the very best that you can be while also accepting that more often than not, that which you create might never live up to the vision of genius you began with — and that you have to be okay with that. This duality manifests itself in your sensitivity levels, too.

We are expected to be empathetic and demonstrate an essential understanding of the human condition while also being thick-skinned enough to withstand our attempts to do so being torn apart. And in public, no less. Please imagine your annual performance review being printed in a national newspaper where all of your friends, family, colleagues, and neighbours can read it... It’s not that comfortable, is it?

I have been wondering recently if there is any point in my reading reviews. If I believe the good reviews, then I have to believe the bad ones as well — and ultimately, it’s not going to make much difference at this point. The book is written.

I can’t change it or fix whatever aspects critics might disagree with. Is it helpful? Or is the noise — positive or negative — simply a distraction? How do you protect yourself while not becoming self-indulgent?

People who create art for a living have to be prepared that people won’t like their work. It doesn’t matter how hard you worked on it, or how close it is to your heart, there is no such thing as a universally loved piece of fiction, music, theatre, etc. The rational side of my brain understands that, and would rather create a book that would be divisive and cause conversation and debate rather that something that is met with a dispassionate shrug. Sadly, there’s a small part inside that is saying, very quietly, Please love me? Please love my work? I beg you.

At a yoga retreat I attended recently, we sat in a circle around the practice room and one by one, we were invited to speak. When it was your turn, you had to sit in silence for a minute and breathe deeply, everyone focusing on you. Then we had to say what that felt like, to be the centre of that attention, even if for such a short time. I could feel my heart begin to race as the baton came closer and closer to me, my mouth going dry.

I found my nerves difficult to understand, as I am used to public speaking in front of crowds. But when I thought about it afterwards, I realised the difference was that this time it was me, the real me. I couldn’t hide behind hair and makeup and the public persona of ‘Author At An Event’ — I had to be completely authentic. I had to speak my truth in front of these strangers and accept the fact that they might not like me for it.

What I found so fascinating about this exercise was that every other person at the retreat said they felt the same way. All of us are so desperate to be seen, to be valued for who we are and the work we do, and yet when it comes to it, we are afraid that being seen might also mean that we are judged.

Is there anything more devastating than the thought of being truly acknowledged by another human being and to then be rejected because of it? But what else can we do? No man or woman is an island. We need to connect with each other, we need to love and be loved in return. We need to risk criticism and judgment and rejection because the payoff from relationships- love and acceptance and compassion — is so great.

But, as ever, the most important thing is always the relationship that we have with ourselves. We have to see ourselves. We have to value ourselves. We have to offer all that love and radical acceptance and compassion to ourselves and to know, deep down, that we are worthy of it.

And ultimately, for me right now, that means trying to separate myself from my work and disentangle the amount of self-worth I derive from it. Success or failure, I have to be okay with myself regardless.

Otherwise, what is the point?