Do you take criticism personally? Are you too attached to your words to let go of them? If you answer yes to either questions, your chances of being published dropped drastically.

Richelle Putnam
600 Old Country Club Road
Meridian, MS 39305
(601) 482-4121
richput.netdoor.com

738 words

COMPROMISE
Gene Fowler once said, “Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a white sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”
Aware now that nothing dreadful is wrong with me, I wipe away the blood, and continue to stare at a blank screen. So why do I write? Because everyday I think. I think about what could be, what could have been, and what might be. I think about what if this had happened, what if this does happen, and what if this had never happened. As long as I think, I must write. Isaac Asimou said, “Thinking is the activity I love best, and writing is simply thinking through my fingers.” As long as a writer thinks, he must write.
However, dripping blood pales next to ruthless publisher rejections. I received a personal note from a publisher on a love story I had submitted. “I’m sorry,” she wrote, “your story doesn’t quite work for me. Wes seemed inappropriately protective. Almost felt as though he was, well, stalking Jill. Sorry to decline.” I imagined the editor’s thumbs-down sign. Then, her secretarial gladiator held a glistening double-edged sword high above my piece, and pierced it triumphantly before stuffing it in the SASE that I had provided.
I returned to reality. Anger consumed me. What does she mean by stalking? Did I miss something? We’re talking romance here, Lady. R-O-M-A-N-C-E. Stalking? In how many romances has the hero kidnapped the heroine, or even made her his personal slave? Stalking? Spare me. I yanked the story from its file, read it over and over to pinpoint the male protagonist’s deceitful, sick manner, his urge to lurk, possess, and control the female protagonist. Not one individual who critiqued that piece recognized a deranged stalking characteristic. Still, day after day, that rejection screamed at me until I finally attempted to read it –- from her point of view.
Did I give in to her rejection when it was so clearly out of line? No, I didn’t give in to it. I considered it. Did I revise the story? Yes. Why? It simply wasn’t that big of a deal. The revision didn’t change the characters or outcome of the story.
I know. As a writer, I’m a disgrace. I should take pride in every word I create, every thought I impart, stand up for what is just. Believe me, I do. In this instance, it wasn’t that I backed down. I compromised. Not on passionate values, morals, or personal opinions. I hope to never compromise those.
If I refuse to consider another’s point of view, what does that accomplish? What does it prove? If I only write for personal gratification, why not just journal, and be content with that? I desire to share my views, thoughts, and stories in order to enter into an intimate writer/reader relationship.
Dedication to the written word energizes me. My heart pumps at a faster pace. Excitement tickles my fingertips as they peck furiously at lifeless keys, inscribing passion onto stark white paper. That fact will never change. How I communicate it to my readers often does. Martin Luther said, “If you want to change the world, pick up your pen.” O Henry said, “Write what you like; there is no other rule.” Each declaration is so distinct, yet both are accurate. If I desire to impact the world, I have to write to the world, but if I write what I like with no regard to audience comprehension, I’ll find my shelves and cabinets filled with futile manuscripts. If that verity doesn’t matter, then rejections shouldn’t distress writers at all. But that’s the point. It does matter.
Compromise is an integral aspect of any relationship, whether it pertains to business, marriage, parenting, friendship, or writing. Puffed-up pride destroys rapport between author, reader, publisher, and editor. Buddy Robinson said, “Pride is the only disease known to man that makes everyone sick except the one who has it.”
So, what am I saying? Listen. That’s all we need to do. Listen. We must welcome others, allow them to enter an open doorway to observe and react to our voices. Permit them the freedom to comment on specific elements. Some observations will utterly miss the mark. Others might nitpick over insignificant details. That’s life. It happens in everything, not just writing. Don’t whine and defend every single word, action, and line you write. Often, the best tool for persuasion is listening.
By the way, that piece I revised about the stalker. It won first place in Writer’s Journal’s Romance Writing Contest.