When Criticism Hurts

How to Deal with Painful Creative Feedback - and Make it Work For You

Dear lovely readers,

When you write a book, direct a film, serve a meal to a paying customer, send a story to a magazine on spec, step into a competitive sports game, play the guitar for an audience of one or a theatre of 200; or hell, publish a Substack - you’re putting yourself out there. You’ve taken a step to put your thoughts, feelings, creativity into something that other people are going to experience and, we hope, enjoy.

But what if they don’t enjoy it? Maybe it’s just a shoulder-shrugging ‘meh’ or worse, in their eyes, actively poor?

I’ll get into that unwanted scenario below, but first, always remember there’s a third option - it’s just not for them. That’s about taste, about need, about availability. When you start as a writer, you send out a chapter and query letter to agents. Or a short story to a website (in my day, it was just physical magazines, how quaint!)

I sent my first couple of stories to every magazine that published anything, and got a string of polite, form replies. And then I got one that passed but said they liked my work. There was a comment about getting into the story faster, too. And heck, I liked that opening. It was all dreamy and poetic and scene-setting, but I started to wonder what the note meant (from a distinguished editor). As you learn to ask, working with movie studios, ‘what’s the note behind the note'? Maybe his readers just scan the first three lines before they turn the page…

So I worked on it. Sent it out again, and got an answer with a hand-written note scrawled across the form letter that said ‘Really great story. Would you consider editing it down to 2000 words?’

Yes, actually, I would. And did. Cue my first fiction publication.

Years later, when our debut film, I Can’t Think Straight, was released, I braced myself for feedback, and some of it was affirming and lovely - but I wasn’t prepared for how deeply some of the early reviews would cut - often dismissive, often reductive. I mean, sleepless stress kind of cuts.

I knew the film could have been more - so much more - given more time, more budget - and more skill and experience on my side. But it was a first movie, an opportunity to make this film out of the blue, and under insane circumstances and, over time, I stopped reading these reviews as personal failures. I began to understand that some parts of those reviews were right but there wasn’t much I could have done about it. And some were right, and yes, I could have done better.

I also learned when stories that fall outside expected frames - queer stories, brown stories, hope-filled love stories — they may not be received with open arms right away. Sometimes, you’re met with discomfort before connection. And that’s okay.

But all the years it took to write the novel, adapt the script, shoot under impossible conditions, and survive a legal battle to reclaim our film from a manipulative financier…it still didn’t feel like enough.

That’s how it felt at the time.

And maybe you’ve had moments like that too. You submit a manuscript, send a pitch, share a painting, screen a film, give a gift, and someone, with or without malice, cuts straight through what you’ve carefully constructed with love, sweat, pain and joy.

Even when you know it’s part of the process, the sting can land in the softest part of you, especially when the work came from that place.

Here are the 5 big lessons I’ve learned after more than two decades of creative feedback, some constructive, some careless, and a few that nearly made me stop altogether.