As scribblers we thirst for feedback.

We are dogs with two tails when praise is given, unbounded joy exudes our very core.

Just was we shine when told we are a ‘good dog,’ so too does our universe collapse when told we’ve been a ‘bad dog’.

Oh, that critique, ouch that comment, the pain, the very light of existence hurts, and into the shadows we must return…

I’ve had some good, some indifferent shrugs, and some near character assassinations.

All in their own way correct.

Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.

Some love modern jazz – I don’t.

Does that negate this music because it’s not for me?

It’s not for me, let the musicians paly on, let others enjoy it.

And so it is, so it must be with tales that are told.

Some will like it, some won’t, and some will be happily indifferent.

You cannot create art with the sole intention of pleasing the masses – for the crowd is notoriously fickle, what they like today they will loathe tomorrow!

It’s not to say criticism doesn’t have merit, of course it does.

I wrote a few pages, and the negativity was universal – the opinions trusted, those bits removed.

I’ve written other passages that have been a bit ‘Marmite’ and that’s okay too.

I write to be read, to be enjoyed, but never to satisfy the whims of a committee.

Some live their life to take down any who try, some rejoice when those who attempt fall short – somehow it justifies the shallowness of their own existence.

Some are indeed professionally bitter.

But as a writer, a teller of tall tales, a scribbler of debatable ability, I console myself with that wonderous quote:  

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.  The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

― Theodore Roosevelt

In short if you like my tale, I thank you, if you don’t then that’s okay too.

I’m a big boy I can take it.

I’m not now nor will I ever want to be one of those cold and timid souls…

Write your tale, tell your story, enjoy and relish your art – it has merit!  

Stay safe & remain sane!

Reading and re reading your own scribble can be cathartic, it can also be terrifying too!

At times you roll your shoulders back that little bit, elevate your head a smidge and contemplate a self-satisfied nod to yourself on job well done.

This you do on occasion.

But for every Yin, there is also a Yang.

You’d punch your own face, but you fear that like your writing that you’d miss the mark…

You do this occasionally too.

Somewhere between the two reactions sits the truth.

Maybe it’s closer to the missed punch, or indeed it could be sitting on the shoulder of the smug smile (it could be!).

The answer, the only measure that counts, that has validity, is that of your readership.

And this you know; this is the knife that continually twists.

You have no readers.

Of all the truths, this one cuts the deepest, hurts the most.

You’ve scribbled, crossed out, scrubbed out, re written and scribbled anew in attempts to polish your text.

Maybe it sits as good now as it is ever going to be – maybe.

But you’ll never know.

You have no readers.

And your attempts have thus far all failed.

Reality check, or perseverance test?

Who knows?

Stay safe and remain sane.