(And I’m not entirely sure I should be putting this up here, but I will anyway)…Chapter One of one of my books is up at the Crapometer. (crapomenter.blogspot.com) It’s today’s entry, the historical romance.
It’s got two comments so far, which is encouraging, and if any of my buds who read here want to stop over there and check it out I’d be grateful for any comments.
Is it wierd that I feel like a grown-up when I accept criticism like a man (OK, WOman? :-)) I can’t take it in my personal life at all. I’m one of those people who feels hurt and lonely all day if one of my friends says something remotely criticl to me (well, maybe not that bad. But I’m not good with criticism.) But comments about my work are totally different. In fact, if you read back into the C-O-M’s archives, there’s one or two people who were very hurt by harsh critiques. Not me. If what I wrote is crap, I’d rather somebody say so. “Gee, December, I didn’t realize you were so untalented,” or “Are you kidding me? Cuz this stinks,” even.
No, deep down I would be surprised to get such comments, because I do have some confidence. But I do hope it’s a good sign for me that I’m managing to separate my personal feelings from my professional ones-i.e. recognizing that my book is not my self; criticism of my words is not criticism of me. Which should bode well when the inevitable rejections come (I’m hoping there won’t be too many of them, but I’m also no longer naive enough to think the first person who sees it is going to snap it right up. Hope, sure, but don’t expect.)
Goodness, I am rambling, aren’t I? I think I’m overtired.
And for some reason, in the last three days, my chin has broken out. WTF? I’m THIRTY-TWO YEARS OLD. And I look like The Walking Blemish. It’s especially nice because I’m so pale.