The Emotional Rollercoaster of Receiving Editorial Feedback

I spent more time staring at the email than it took me to actually read it.

It just sat there in my inbox, unopened, while my imagination did what imaginations do — built the worst possible version of what was inside. Every flaw I already knew about. Every choice I'd second-guessed. Every place where I thought maybe this doesn't quite work. My brain had already assembled a very thorough case against me before I'd read a single word of feedback.

The thing is, creativity was never what I considered one of my natural strengths growing up. Analytical, yes. Give me a math problem and I will fight you confidently about the answer because there is a right one and I know it. But this? This is entirely subjective. Someone is reading something I made from nothing and deciding how they feel about it, and there is no formula for that and no way to know in advance if you got it right.

So I stared at the email for a long time.

When I finally opened it, the rollercoaster analogy is apt — except it didn't go nearly as high or drop nearly as far as I'd built it up to be. It wasn't 400 glowing compliments. But it wasn't the demolition I'd braced for either. The harsh things were fewer than I expected. The imagination, it turns out, is a much harsher critic than most editors.

I understand now why so many creative people get so emotional about this. If I'd been doing this when I was younger it might have crippled me on occasion. But I'm not younger. I've earned a certain amount of not caring what everyone thinks. If you like it, wonderful. If you don't, go find something you do like. I'm not writing to win every reader. I'm writing to produce something that moves forward — something that makes my family and friends proud of me, for whatever time I have left to make things.

That's enough. That's more than enough. 🐉