Armor up!

On the first day of each semester I tell my university writing class that one of the most important tools a writer can possess is a hide about as thick as a rhinoceros's. Why? Because whether you're a novelist, copywriter, journalist, or report writer, if you take time to put words on paper, a little bit of your self bleeds out along with the ink, which is why we tend to take criticisms of our writing personally, as though our religious convictions or politics were being attacked.

The more work you put into your writing, the more seriously you take it. Hence the need for a bulky suit of armor to better enable you to survive the arrows and spear thrusts of constructive criticism. Try not to take it personally when someone suggests that you could have worded a sentence differently or that he or she really doesn't understand what you're getting at in the second paragraph.

Criticism, or editing, is a necessary element of the writing process. We know what we're trying to say, but what we write doesn't always accomplish that aim. A writer should scrutinize what she's written over and over again. But even the most careful scribbler will miss flaws in her copy. That's why it's critical that someone else look at your work. The importance of that second and third pair of eyes examining your darling can't be overstated. That's why you must detach yourself from what you've written and listen closely to the advice of others. Does that mean that the readers who you invite to examine your work are always correct in their criticisms and suggestions? No. They can often be decidedly wrong. But you must objectively weigh what they say and choose whether to change your work. The more detachment you've developed, the more objectively you'll be able to consider suggestions, which often are helpful – more times than we would like to admit.

Of course, suggestions aren't always what you're dealing with. Depending on your situation, you may have no choice but to accept them. That news release you toiled over for a week could be hacked and retooled to the the point where it's unrecognizable. You can rail against the injustice of it, or if you've a hide thick enough to stop a bullet, you can view things philosophically and console yourself that you did the best you could.

Being able to detach yourself from your work is easy to say, but, depending on your personality, it may be hard to do. I wish I could offer some advice to thin-skinned folks about adding tough layers to their epidermis. But in nearly a quarter of a century of professional writing, I'm still working on mine, though I'm happy to report progress. It's now about as bulky as tissue paper.