The terror of letting go
June 23, 2009
At some point you have to let go. You have to trust that you made a pretty good book and that the world will do what it must – the world will react to the book in its own time, and in ways you could not imagine – good or bad. It’s completely out of your control. Now is that time for me. I’m more courageous about facing positive reactions than the negative – it’s human nature, I think, to smile through praise and to recoil at criticism. It hurts when someone takes a poke at your kid. It’s a part of you. Equally, it feels pretty wonderful when you get praise for your child. But neither criticism, nor praise affects the way you love your child. You continue to love. Ideally, I would like to completely ignore every single review. I know that will be impossible, but I am going to try. I have removed all Google-alerts regarding Columbus. I’m no longer interested. Not my job to react to, or to even read the critics. My job is to go to work on another book. This is the black and white vision. Here’s the grey part of this equation: good reviews will sell some books and will allow for an easier sale of a next book. Of course this grey bit has nothing to do with writing. The writing continues to be the payoff. The act of writing stands alone and can afford to be black and white. Ya, I’m terrified of this letting go… And so, to work.
2 Comments
1. paulette had this to say: Jun 23, 2009 ~ 13:30 ~ #
…at first I thought it was because I would not let go
then know, no
it is after the weight lifts
that we feel her heaviness
the absence of weight can be disconcerting
all this is the letting go…
you know all this already XOP
2. Harding had this to say: Jun 23, 2009 ~ 15:37 ~ #
If you think it’s hard letting go of a book-child, just think how hard it will be letting go of an actual child when the time comes.
Letting Columbus go will in retrospect seem like a piece of cake because the one thing I know for sure is that though Columbus is a true child of your imagination and talent, never once did it ever look up at you and say “Daddy I love you.”