2021 has felt like a kind of retreat, which is an odd thing to say, because all along I’ve been here, reminding you I’m here, doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re an author with a new book out and, oftentimes, more. I didn’t feel like myself at the end of February. In March, I bleached my hair. Cliché. It was the right thing to do. Tried to make peace with June. Started a new book amid all this and in October, finished it. That’s a certain kind of disappearance, one you never come back from quite the same. Now I’m in that post-book place where you look around and see what remains; gaps and loose ends. All along I’ve been here, nowhere.
I need to start my newsletter up again, I thought at some point.
Let’s start here:
This book. It got under my skin. It’s not the first time something I’ve written has done that, but this one was different. This one dug itself into me in a very specific way, exacerbated by the kind of turnaround that reminded me of my early twenties when I was doing a book a year. It took a physical toll. Toward the end of it, I was sleeping three hours at a time and I made the same thing for dinner every night because I was stretched too thin to make decisions unrelated to what I now think of as one of the most painful and painstakingly crafted books of my career. My best.
Earlier this year, I received a comment from someone framing their opinion of my work around what they felt my very vocal pride in it had promised them. They didn’t like what they’d read, so they thought maybe I could have liked what I wrote less. Or, more to the point, kept it to myself.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot now I’m finished my next book fully prepared to tell you how brilliant it is. I’ve always felt pride in your craft first requires you to humble yourself before it, so when I say I’ve written my best book it’s because I know I pushed myself to meet the demands it made of me and I’m satisfied I met them. To that end, I can tell you each of my book is its best. Whether or not a reader loves them has always been between them and the page. And that’s always been the beauty of it.
But.
Do you talk to male authors this way, I wanted to ask.
Anyway, it is a brilliant book.
Brilliant and bold and devastating.
I will tell you more about that, in time.
But I’ll always be telling you that too.
Hello again.
It was very nice to see The Project make opening round of the Goodreads Choice Awards. You can vote for it here.
I’ve been reading this ys not a test for the millionth time and for a non reader this book gets my heart racing I love it so much you words are well written
I always find it strange when people just *have* to tell artists (and writing is an art) that they don’t like what they’ve created.
There’s a difference between feedback and a review, and there’s also a difference between constructive criticism and just criticism. A review is a chance of to give someone constructive criticism — or not! — while feedback can either be positive and wanted, or completely negative and unasked for. Criticism, when not critical, can be the type of negative feedback that someone has not asked for and does not want. It can often be mean and unhelpful.
Also, beyond all of that, there’s just the rude comments. If someone is going to say they didn’t like your work without saying what it is they didn’t like, it’s often to be ugly. More often than not, the artist/creator of pieces of works, don’t need to hear criticisms, constructive or otherwise, unless asked for.
Anyways, I’m sorry for rambling, this just sparked a bit of inner anger I have.
Have a goodnight!
- Isabelle