my fat head

When I write something I like, I really like it. I sometimes think it's so brilliant I need to share it with someone immediately or the world is going to implode. It's a pretty intense feeling.

Usually I do. Share it, that is. I force one of my sisters to read the awesomeness I've just controlled through my words and then I get their response. It can either be satisfactory (my sister sighing, staring out the window wistfully and telling me she's still the president of my fan club) or disappointing ("It's good."). Usually it's satisfactory, though.

Naturally, some of my novel is being shared with my sister, Maddy, as I write it. It started with the first chapter and I set a bad precedent for myself. Now she asks for me to email it to her like I have done three or four times and I must say no because it's Week Two and insecurity has set in. Only not really.

I'm one of those irritating people that thinks if you dislike something about my writing, there's probably something wrong with you. It's not that I can't take criticism; I think I can take it just fine. When I ask for it. But if I don't ask you to honestly tell me what you think is wrong with a piece, I don't want you to tell me. I want you to be my cheerleader. Not lie, or even exaggerate a ton but just don't tell me what you don't like. Because honestly, and this is even more intensely so during NaNoWriMo, I don't want to hear it.

When I ask for it, though, that's when I really want to hear what you think. No thoughts barred, tell me the good, the bad and what I should improve. But I digress.

A real life conversation with my real life sister:
Sister: Will you email me the latest chapter of your novel?
Me: No. I have writerly self esteem issues.
Sister: Please?
Me: No.
Sister: Please?
Me: Fine. But I don't want to hear it if there's anything you don't like or if you think it's awkward. And the scene doesn't really have any build up. It exists on its own. So you're going to have to deal with that.
Sister: Okay. Thank you.
Me: And don't tell me if you think it's bad. Actually, if you think it's bad, you can go to hell.
Sister: Okay then. *walks away*

In short, I think I'm pretty awesome and if you want to disagree with me on that point, you can go away now. I eventually apologized to my sister for being as abrupt as to tell her she could go to hell. Honestly, though, the sentiment kind of stands. I have a fat head.