Writing is a self-indulgent, ego pandering, pastime. You can write whatever you want, create whatever scenario your imagination can conjure – except sometimes you can’t…
It’s often said that ‘it’s not the critic that counts…’ and there is a genuine truth in that. But, without feedback, without a reaction to what you’ve typed, what are you doing it for? Without external validation, you could sit all day typing ‘all work and no play makes jack a dull boy’ and nobody would know – or indeed care!
So, your fragile bloom sends out scripts for review. You are lucky, you have people you trust, folk who will be honest, so that flattery, if given, will be meaningful, but, also, that if criticised, that it too will have merit.
Flattery is always nice, to be told that someone enjoyed your scribbles, that it took them on an enjoyable page-turning adventure is the best you can hope for. But, when you fail, when the quality isn’t what it should be, then you need to be honest enough to genuinely accept it!
The story in my head doesn’t always make it into print – at times I miss out sections, assume I’ve made myself clear, so, when it’s pointed out that the ‘flow’ just isn’t there, then I need to correct the errors – shoot the script writer, not the critic!