If you’ve ever written a term paper that a teacher marked down for overall tone, or if you’ve written that masterpiece and your co-workers think it’s too odd to sell – I know where you stand. Dealing with negativity is part of the learning process in this life, especially as a writer.
There are times when you want to cut the critics into little bits with their own tongue, and just maybe you’ve thought about where to hide the pieces. Sorry, that’s my vindictive side talking out too much. I really have spent too much time writing dark fiction!
Now when you realize homicide isn’t a viable option you need a way to handle those hurtful words that were dealt to your ego. There are many paths that you can take:
Option One: The first is to learn from it. I know that sounds overly goodie-goodie, but read their words carefully. Try to find out why they came to that conclusion about your work. If one person thought that way, others might as well. You need to find out what caused negative review/comments and better your writing for it.
But if they define themselves in a way that holds water and gives you a reason to re-think your writing, thank them. Yes, you read that correctly, thank them for pointing out something valid that will help you in your career. Basically, refer to the Option One. However, if they’re just whining, gut the bastard.
Finally, the last way to go is to be the better person. Walk away. If they don’t hold a valid standing ground, and if they don’t stop being childish in their reasoning and words – let it go. Completely ignoring an idiotic comment is the best way to kill it outside of hiding the body (See Option Two).
Criticism is a fundamental part of life, remember that.
Others judge everything we do and say. The things that make you you and everything you are, is under your power alone. No one can tell you to think the story you’ve written is one way or another. You wrote it and it’s all because of you.
There is a power in words, and there is strength in creation. Your pen allows you that creation because you have the vision to see what others don’t and the talent to paint with words.
Remember that Dreams Create Reality and you will be able to deal with any criticism life give you.
Demon Vampire asks the question, if given the choice to have power, grace, and immortality at the cost of your soul, what would you do? What if the choice was easier than you think?
Erudite Small Press
Demon Vampire Special Science Report 1192:
His eyes closed. The red apparition somehow soothed and calmed him. It was speaking directly now. It was murder. He could hear it above the raging storm coursing through him. It forced upon him glimpses of her dead body, a sight of torment. “The vast ocean of power I can grant you. The encompassing absolution of being I offer, to walk without equal as an abomination among monsters. To be feared as no other.” The voice sighed inside him. It’s breath warm on the back of his thoughts. “Am I truly so disgusting? Is this not what you asked for? Do I not tempt you? Offer you what you need? Do I not wet your tongue with my invitation?”
Fear swept him, his choices were not sovereign. His gut knotted in indecision. The hot blanket of seduction that had cloaked him was convincing. It was generously welcoming. He hesitated, not knowing the demon’s destination or his own. He could feel his soul slipping, a grip once tight, now failing him.
“Let it happen, give yourself to me. All you ever have to do, is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements.” The voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued. “Rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk.” The demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.
He was unsure, the deal was tempting, even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing, he was not a murderer. He knew as much, as he doubted his own integrity. It was tempting, wet in his mouth, keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise. It was seductive.
The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence was unrelenting. “Is my simple price so steep, so dire, costly, that you would die a fool’s death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?”