I asked a handful of trusted friends to beta-read a work-in-progress back in December. Last Friday, I received my first piece of feedback. The beta-reader’s input was affirming, polite, thoughtful… and still hard to read. The reviewer caught missed details, minor continuity issues, and pacing issues. She suggested I introduced some facts earlier. Quick fixes, all.

But then she had the audacity to suggest that I had some work to do on the voices of the central characters. In her opinion, they were too similar.

I knew she was right but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t matter that I chose this reviewer because  I knew she was a reader, a teacher, and a wise person. What I really wanted to hear was “Good job. That year you’ve invested in this book was enough. You’re finished.” I wanted to dismiss everything she had to say.

This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve done contract work for over ten years and had three books published. Editors have dissected my writing more times than I can count. In the privacy of my own skull, I’d questioned their sanity and taste. I’ve challenged the wisdom of being paired up with pre-pubescent professionals. Blood has been shed on the big screen of my imagination.

I’ve been fortunate enough to never voice those thoughts. After minutes or hours, the wave of indignation recedes and I return to my right mind.

Here are some things I’ve learned to tell myself when receiving critique, whether its in writing, work, or relationships:

The human brain is hard-wired to resist critique:

Our brains are designed to be convinced of our own beliefs.  Imagine going to the grocery store and having to decide each time you walked down the produce aisle whether or not you really preferred cantaloupe over apples. Indecision would prevent you from ever finish shopping. Our brains prevent this shopping catastrophe. When we are exposed to opinions which which we disagree, our “fight or flight” reflex kicks in. On the other hand, when we hear an opinion that we agree with, the brain’s pleasure center releases a package of dopamine and gives us sense of well-being.

So the architecture of your brain prevents you from having to re-choose your religion, political affiliation, whether-or-not-those-jeans-make-your-butt-look-fat, and whether or not you like Tim Tebow* every morning. The downside is you are also not inclined to really hear criticism.

The hack: Wait until that surge of emotion passes before deciding if there’s merit to the critique or not.

If you build a reputation for not hearing criticism you will stop receiving criticism.

The calm version of myself knows that I need critique. I have blind spots and inexperience as a writer and as a human being. I’m selfish and sinful. Critique, then, should be as valued as oxygen.

I’m not proud of this, but on occasion I’ve driven Amy to the point where she doesn’t have the energy or will to even try to confront me anymore. I’m in less relational danger when she confident that I’m hearing and processing her input even if I don’t agree with it. I’ve learned to be scared when she becomes resigned.

Rail against enough editors and watch your work-for-hire contracts vanish. Dismiss a beta-reader once and see if he or she ever makes that time investment twice.

You should be more surprised that your work is good than you are that someone thinks its flawed.

I know, the last person to blog about Malcolm Gladwell’s famous “10,000 hours” should turn the lights out. But he’s right. It takes years of disciplined practice to be good at anything: Marriage, writing, fitness, parenting, woodwork, home repair, or sex: Anything. When I’m wise, I remember that I’m simply logging in my 10,000 hours and this criticism is part of paying my lump.

The operative clause is “when I am wise.”

How about you, what helps you receive critique well?   

*I’ve made my gratuitous Tebow reference and will not have my blogging licence revoked. Thanks for your understanding.