The Pain of Disappointment

The journey of a writer is full of ups and downs. We have to be creative, looking at the world in different ways to most, paying attention to every little detail. We have to be sensitive, understanding, to get into our characters’ heads. We have to be dedicated, able to work alone in a room where no one can bother us for hours on end. We have to be strong too. We have to be able to accept critic and allow it to form us, shape us and improve our skills.

I realised today that I have a long way to go before I can call myself a writer. I’ve been fooling myself thinking that I was already one; that I was prepared to delve into the terrifying world of publishers and editors. The fact is that I’m not and I may not be for a long, long time. Maybe not ever.

It’s a sad fact but I have to face up to it.

This doesn’t mean I’ll give up on my dream, though. No, I love writing; it’s the reason for my being. Nothing brings me as much joy as writing something I can be proud of. However, it’s time to pull my head out of the clouds. If I want this dream to become a reality then I have to be prepared to hear comments that are blunt and true. I’ve got to try and use that critic to help me, to enable me to improve. Otherwise I’ll keep on going down the same path and that’s not what I want. If I let it get me down then I should give up right now.

But I can’t help it. The truth hurts.

I suppose you’re wondering what has brought all this on so I’ll tell you.

To help me improve my skills I signed up onto a writing course. It’s a course that is done online where you can speak to a tutor over email rather than face to face. I email the assignments, the tutor marks them and then they send them back with helpful critic.

I got my first assignment back today and I suppose the comments, though worded gently, hurt me. I’d written a short story about a ghost for a competition I saw in a magazine. It was my first attempt (I wrote it before the sci-fi fiction) and I felt like I’d really achieved something. I felt so proud that I’d managed to break away from the fantasy genre, to look into real life situations. I thought it held emotion; I thought it would touch people who’d been through a similar situation.

The tutor didn’t agree.

She said it had promise, but really it didn’t have much of a chance in a competition, purely because there was nothing achieved in the plot. She was right; it was simply a tale of woe, of a family who’d been affected by an unexpected death. There was no twist, no sense of hope, but that’s what I liked about it! You felt the ghost’s despair, the knowledge that it could no longer help the family it had left behind.

I suppose I hadn’t expected such negative feedback. After all, I was so happy with the outcome. Her comments came as a shock. My heart sank. My immediate reaction was to give up on the course, to throw the damn story away. It’s childish and immature, and I’m ashamed now that I think about it. I need to strengthen myself against these comments and not take them so personally. The tutor is only trying to help and I should let her! After all I signed up for the course for the very reason that I could receive an honest opinion on my work.

So, I’m going to rewrite my short story, add a bit of hope, add some development and I’ll submit it and see what happens. I took all the time to discover the plot and characters, took the effort to get some critic, so why not give it a go? The worst that can happen is I get nowhere, but I’ll still get nowhere if I let the story fade away.

I’ll let you know how I get on.