Guitarists

One of the fora I belong to has a lively thread right now, discussing authors' expectations - specifically, how it feels for a writer seeing scathingly negative user reviews at Amazon and the like.

I've made a point of developing a process callus; a good level of tolerance for criticism on a piece I am working on.  I also have a sort of dividing line, I think - between actual critique and what I think of as "the guitarist at the back of the bar" (someone smarming about perceived shortcomings, but whose commentary has less meaning than the comments of those who put thought into criticism).  The Guitarist is the person watching a band on stage, sneering how much better she or he could do than those performing.  The Guitarist is speaking more for the value of what he or she has to say than in response to what's really happening live up front.  The Guitarist, in terms of literary criticism, is the person reading who "hates" a work because they disagree with choices an author makes, rather than because it's poor storytelling or just not compelling for one reason or other.  The Guitarist is the person most likely to come up with cruelty, ugliness, and insult in critique.

The Guitarist is an element I expect to crop up once I am published, but *hope* will not upset me much.  Because, very often, Guitarists represent the power of backlash against something particularly large, successful, or culturally prominent ... it's entirely possible I won't hear a lot of their thrumming.  Successful as I expect to be, I'm not under any illusions that J. K. Rowling need ever step aside to make room for my publishing accomplishments.

Actual criticism, however, fascinates me.

The critic is someone who really reads, and who develops sincere - and not necessarily emotionally-based - opinions.  The critic is someone who may well not like my work - but will be able to say that this is because the subject matter didn't engage them, or because the language was overwrought for their taste, or perhaps because the choices I made didn't work - and here's why.  This isn't someone who'll be crowing about what a hack I am, nor insulting me personally for the temerity of writing my novel at all.

The scary thing is that the critic is no one identity.

As I have learned that "historical fiction" has no single set definition - and that an agent claiming to rep it isn't necessarily the agent for me - so it is true that a reader who likes histfic, even military or religious or royal histfic, isn't necessarily going to like my work.  Even those who enjoy authors and works I consider similar enough to my own that I've used them in my proto-marketing may not glom to my stuff for one reason or another.  I think people who watch Game of Thrones might like The Ax and the Vase - but the Venn diagram illustrating both subsets and any shared audience is never going to come out to a zero sum.

It becomes necessary at some point to honestly realize, and accept, the inevitability that some people who read Ax will dislike it.  The question, then, is how much does that matter?  I'm not the sort for whom imperviousness to opinion is strong enough I'll be able to just sniff, dismiss, and say "I've sold x-number-of-thousands of copies" and tell critics and myself that it doesn't matter.  There are times my state of still being in potential - as opposed to having experienced being published ... being *seen* ... has clear advantages to me.  The future can still be so many things.  I can still hear my own chords, not that Guitarist at the back of the bar.  So far, there's no heckling and jeering to be hurt by, worried about.

I'm still nearly alone with my love of the work I was somehow able to produce.  It's recognizeable how precious a time, in some ways, this is.



At the end of the day, though ... the point of picking up the instrument is to play.  Is to go out there.  Is to present myself to everyone - Guitarists and all.

I may be nervous about that.  But it doesn't make me want to quit.