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greenerteacups · 4 months ago

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Hello GT, I absolutely love Lionheart!

I published my first fic and have been dealing with some criticism; it’s not anythjng super hateful, but it’s not anything meant to make me improve either. I’ve been feeling sort of down because of it. My question is: have you ever dealt with hate or criticism before? What is your attitude towards it?

I find your work and answers on here super insightful and inspiring! I hope you have a nice day ❤️

Fuck em. Like, seriously, just fuck em. There's a time and place for writers to take critique and be strict with themselves; it's necessary for any artist to grow. That place is with a chosen group of creatives whose work you admire and whose judgment you trust. A rando on the Internet, while they may in fact be the next Marcel Proust, probably isn't. And I was raised to believe that while it's appropriate and kind to pay compliments to strangers when they're performing — just as you'd smile at a busker on the sidewalk, and or compliment a chalk artist — it's not appropriate to criticize them when what they do isn't to your tastes. They're providing you with their art for free. No one forced you to read it; no one forced you to listen. If you don't like it, it costs $0 to shut the fuck up.

Also — that thing I said about artists taking critique? That assumes that you're doing this out of a desire to improve your writing, which, while noble, is not actually a thing you need to do if you're a hobby writer. I like trying to improve; it makes me feel good. But at the end of the day, I do this for fun. I do this because in my real job, I am ruthless and self-critical and try really fucking hard to do well, and you need parts of your life that Aren't Like that. You need parts of your life where you're not worrying about whether you're Doing It Right. And living without that anxiety of critique is, paradoxically, the only way you'll find the artistic courage to take risks and develop new skills. Everyone is a little bit rough around the edges to begin with. (Not saying you're a beginner — you merely said "publish," and I certainly wrote a lot of things before I started publishing! But every artist is always trying to develop new skills and techniques; in the grand scope of things, we're all beginners.) Giving someone blunt critique when they're in the beginning phases of their journey as an artist is about as helpful as screaming at your six-year-old kid because he can't swim the butterfly.

And the thing is, these people will bluster and say "well, I'm just being honest, I'm just trying to be helpful," but like: mmmmmmno, you're not! You're not. And it's disingenuous to say so. Because if you were actually trying to be helpful, you would introduce yourself, offer your skills as an editor/beta reader, and start building the relationship of trust that grounds any meaningful co-creative partnership. People do not just accept random critique that comes flying at them from the blue nowhere. And issuing it in that form is the best way to make them hostile, defensive, and unreceptive to it. Delivering harsh feedback without a context of care and support is almost sure to fail as a method of actually changing behavior, and either (1) you know that, and are doing it anyway — presumably because you want people to know how Terribly Clever and Better At Writing you are, or (2) you sincerely have never thought about the effect that context and word choice have on how other people receive your meaning.

Which tells me you are the last fucking person on the planet I want writing advice from.

#basically: fuck them and fuck anyone who doesn't come to you with kindness when they're offering critique #i don't care if they're a nobel prizewinner. no one is above offering kindness #and if someone thinks they're above giving kindness then you should view them with derision and pity #imagine being so sad you spend your free time shitting on other people's art.#like you're not a critic. you're not the new york times book review buddy.#you read something that someone put their whole heart and joy and free time into #and then held out in their hands eagerly to share with you. because they thought you might like it.#and you sneered at them.#Anon I think you should keep writing forever. I think that the merest sentence you have ever written #is worth more than anything that the authors of your criticism could conceive #and it's you. it's you! if it brings you joy then it's fulfilled its purpose #people mean more than art. you mean more than art. your satisfaction is the object of making it #and finally THANK YOU so much for your very kind words.#they mean a tremendous amount and i am grateful for them.

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nessiithatsme · 2 months ago

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Unexpected Connection - Logan Henderson

Chapter 6

Logan

The boys and I were still hanging around our table in the restaurant. The wine was almost finished, and the rest of the bottle stood like a weak memorial to the last few minutes we had spent together. The atmosphere was relaxed, the exchange between us just like it used to be – quick-witted and without inhibitions. But then, out of nowhere, I saw her.

Emma White.

Our eyes met almost simultaneously when I spotted her in the corner of the restaurant. For a moment, time seemed to stand still and the room became a bit narrower. She was standing there with a man at her side whom I didn't know. He was a little older but looked like the type who always said the right things and asked the right questions, while at the same time knowing how to elicit a smile that went to the core. I could see that he was trying to talk to her on some level, and her facial expressions told me that she didn't find the conversation particularly engaging.

The boys noticed Emma almost simultaneously. Kendall, who was always the first to notice a pretty woman, leaned over and let his eyes glide over her with a grin. "Isn't that Ms. White?" James said, having also spotted her. "Definitely," Carlos said, taking a sip of his wine. "Logan, how about it? You and Ms. White?" James laughed again. My look must have spoken volumes as I put my glass down again.

"Come on, Logan, don't be such a killjoy," Kendall said with a cheeky grin as he stared at me again, and let himself sink back in his chair as if he had already reached the goal. "You're the ultimate heartthrob. What's the problem?"

"Oh, please," I said, trying to play it down. I took another gulp from my glass, as if that would loosen the knot in my stomach. 'She's not my type."

"Not your type?' James laughed out loud. "Have you seen her? She's definitely your type, Logan. She's got not only the looks but also the aura that knocks you out. Come on, if not you, then who?"

"Yeah, exactly," Carlos agreed, 'you can't really act like you don't like women like her. She looks like... like the highlight of everything you've ever had!"

"What, you think, how it should go? Should I take her to my hotel room? In the hotel she manages?' I asked, shaking my head to calm myself.

"Why not?" Kendall grinned mischievously and nudged my arm lightly with his elbow. 'It would be a cool plot twist. The rebellious star and the strict hotel manager? Sounds like a damn good movie."

"Oh yeah, sure,' I said with a sarcastic undertone, putting my glass down a little harder than necessary on the table. "Except that real life isn't a movie. And to be honest, I really don't feel like getting involved in any drama."

"Logan, drama is your middle name," James interjected, laughing as he leaned back. "Come on, you're the guy who always makes the best entrance in the middle of the chaos. So why not here?"

I shook my head, trying to act relaxed, but inside I felt annoyed by the whole situation. Or maybe it was tempting. There was something about this woman that I couldn't get out of my mind – and that was exactly the problem.

"Guys, I told you, she's not my type," I insisted, folding my arms. "She's too... how should I put it... proper. The kind of woman who plays by the rules. I'm exactly the opposite. It would never work."

"Or maybe that's exactly why it would work," Carlos said dryly, pushing his empty glass across the table. 'Opposites attract. You would rub against each other all the time – in the best sense of the word."

"Carlos, seriously?' I shot him a annoyed look. But before I could protest any further, everyone suddenly fell silent. Their eyes wandered over my shoulder, and I knew immediately that something was going on.

"There she is," Kendall said quietly, and his voice had that tone that always meant he was expecting something exciting.

I turned around slowly, and there she was – Emma White, walking towards the exit with her companion. She moved with a natural elegance that seemed to come to her effortlessly. The smile she gave her companion looked friendly and very familiar.

But then it happened. Just as she passed our table, James broke the silence.

"Good evening, Ms. White," he said with a broad grin that seemed as charming as it was exaggerated. "How nice to see you here. May I say that you look absolutely stunning tonight?"

Emma stopped abruptly. Her eyes flicked to James, then to me. For a moment, she seemed surprised to see us, but then her professional mask returned. "Mr. Maslow, how charming," she replied politely, but her eyes had a sharp look that clearly said she wasn't in the mood for small talk.

"And Mr. Henderson," she added, her voice becoming a bit colder. 'I hope you like your new room."

"Yes,' I said, trying to sound as calm as possible. 'It meets my standards.'

What was that question about again?

The guy standing next to her looked back and forth between me and Emma with obvious interest. "Oh, do you know these guys?" he asked curiously, with a mischievous grin crossing his face. 'Vaguely,' Emma replied curtly and turned her gaze back to me. 'And to be honest, that was quite enough."

"Oh come on, Ms. White,' James said, leaning forward a little. "Such a nice evening – you must have a sense of humor. Please join us."

What the hell are you doing, James?

"Thank you for the offer," she said with a calm but firm tone, 'but I have a clear rule: work and private life remain separate.'

Her gaze slid briefly across the table and her green eyes tried to read my expression. Then she turned her gaze directly to James, without showing the slightest hint of uncertainty.

"Besides, I believe that you and your colleagues can enjoy the evening just as much without me. After all, you already seem to be having a great time."

The silence after her answer was hard to miss. Even James, who usually had a quick-witted reply at the ready, was speechless for a moment. I watched her – the way she presented herself with an iron posture, her clear demarcation with a politeness that was nevertheless unmistakable.

And I hated it, but something about it fascinated me.

"Touché," James finally murmured, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "A woman who knows what she wants – or rather, what she doesn't want."

The boys chuckled softly, but I said nothing. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and took a closer look at her.

"Separating work and private life, huh?" I finally said, my voice calm but with a hint of curiosity. 'That sounds... practical. But it also takes a bit of the spice out of life, doesn't it?'

Her gaze was as sharp as a dagger, but I held my ground.

"Or maybe," I added, shrugging my shoulders slightly, 'it's just an excuse not to take risks?'

The guy next to her took a small step to the side, obviously careful not to get between us, while Emma raised her eyebrows and gave me a piercing look.

"Some of us," she said coolly, 'have learned that it's wiser to calculate risks than to jump blindly into the unknown.'

I bit my tongue to stop myself from grinning. "Calculated risks. Sounds... safe. And boring."

Her lips twitched as if she had something sharp on her tongue, but she stopped. She just nodded briefly, then turned away. "Have a nice evening, gentlemen."

While she walked with the guy at her side, I felt the stares of the guys on me.

"Dude," Carlos murmured finally, 'she just blew you off.'

"Oh, he deserved it," Kendall added with a grin. "But, you know, Logan... somehow I think you like it that way." I snorted softly and reached for my glass to take a deep swig. "Bullshit," I murmured, but inside I knew they were right.

Emma White – the woman who kept her work and private life so strictly separate – had just secured a place in my head again. And that annoyed me more than I wanted to admit.

Emma

As soon as we stepped through the heavy glass door of the restaurant and into the cool night air, the storm that I had suppressed throughout the conversation erupted.

"Un-be-liev-able!" I threw my hands in the air and turned to Eliot, who had been walking calmly beside me as if he hadn't witnessed the last ten minutes. 'Did you see that? Hear that? The arrogance, the nerve!'

Eliot just raised an eyebrow and pressed the key of his car, which then unlocked with a soft beep.

"I mean, who does this Logan guy think he is? Just implying that I'm boring because I take my work seriously? Because I set professional boundaries?" I got into the car and slammed the door behind me. "These guys... they live completely in their own world! It's all about them, isn't it? Because they have a few fans and a bit of fame, they think they can get away with anything!"

Eliot sank into the driver's seat, buckled his seat belt slowly, and gave me a quick glance. His face was impassive as usual, but I saw the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you really want to continue with this monologue, or should I just drive you home so you can yell at your pillow?" he asked dryly and started the engine.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window. "You could be on my side for a change."

"I'm always on your side, Emma." He turned onto the road and gave me a quick glance. "But I'm also in favor of you taking a deep breath before you work yourself up into a complete hysteria."

"Hysteria?" I spat and turned to him. 'This is not hysteria, this is justified outrage!'

"Is it?" Eliot snorted softly and continued undeterred. "Let's be honest, Em. This Logan has pushed your buttons a bit, sure. But have you ever considered that he might be right?"

"What?" I stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

"I'm not saying he's completely right," Eliot added before I could explode. "But maybe the problem isn't that he's arrogant. Maybe the problem is that he's playing at your level. And you're not used to that."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words stuck in my throat.

"Think about it," Eliot continued without looking at me. "Most people give you a wide berth because you're so sharp-tongued. But Logan? He fired right back. And instead of being impressed by that, you went on the defensive."

"That's absurd," I murmured, but my voice didn't sound as convinced as I'd hoped.

"Is it?" Eliot parked the car in front of my apartment building and finally turned to me. "Emma, the guy provoked you because he knows you're capable of more. And frankly, I think he could use a little of your fire."

I stared at him, my heart beating faster than I wanted it to. But I knew that Eliot always told me the unvarnished truth – and that drove me crazy.

"All right," I finally murmured, unbuckling my seat belt. "But just to be clear – that doesn't mean I like him."

Eliot grinned broadly. "Of course not. But maybe you should still think about what happens when you meet someone who is as stubborn as you are."

I got out of the car, my head full of conflicting thoughts, and gave Eliot a last glance.

"Good night, Eliot."

"Good night, Emma." He leaned back, still grinning, as if he knew that the discussion in my head was far from over. As soon as I got out of the car, I wanted to slam the door loudly, but I didn't.

Even as I stepped into the stairwell and went up the first few steps, I couldn't shake his words. This Logan plays at your level. What nonsense. Eliot had no idea what he was talking about.

Or did he?

I shook my head and opened the door to my apartment.

No, Emma. This is absolutely ridiculous. This Logan Henderson is a spoiled, conceited loudmouth. Nothing more.

I kicked off my shoes and threw my bag on the nearest chair.

Still, there was this nagging feeling in my gut. Why had he managed to get under my skin so easily? Nobody usually provoked me that quickly. I was good at staying professional, no matter how annoying my counterpart was. But this guy...

"Argh!" I ran my fingers through my hair and collapsed on the couch. Eliot was wrong. Definitely. Logan was not on my level – he was just a damn expert at getting under my skin.

But why couldn't I get that stupid grin off my mind?

I pulled a pillow onto my lap and hugged it tightly. The evening had started out so calm and orderly, and now I sat here, unable to get the thought of a singer I had only known for a few hours out of my head.

And then those words from Eliot: "Maybe the problem isn't that he's arrogant. Maybe the problem is that he's playing at your level."

"Bullshit," I murmured loudly and threw the pillow away. But even as I said it, I knew that a part of me was not satisfied with it. It was as if Logan had awakened something in me with his provocative manner that I couldn't even name.

I jumped up and paced the apartment, but the feeling remained. A constant tug between anger and... curiosity? No, certainly not.

But when I finally went to bed, determined to banish this man and everything he had said from my mind, I couldn't sleep. His words, his gaze, that mocking smile – they were all still there, as if I had burned them into my memory.

And that was what really upset me.

———

The suite room was bathed in a golden light, the long shadows on the walls seemed to move as if the room were alive. Everything seemed surreal, almost as if I had left reality behind me. But it wasn't the hallway that made the air so heavy – it was him.

He stood before me, casual, as if he owned the world, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, which fit him far too well.His mocking grin seemed to bore into my innermost being, and I felt my jaw tighten.

"What a coincidence, running into you here," he said, his voice a soft contrast to his cutting words. "Or are you here to watch over me? I knew you were a control freak, but this is impressive."

"Monitor?" I folded my arms across my chest, forcing myself to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. "Don't worry, Logan. I have better things to do than deal with you."

"Oh, really?" He took a step closer, and suddenly the hallway felt a lot smaller. "You know, Emma, for someone who supposedly doesn't care about me, you're around me an awful lot."

I felt my fingernails dig into the palms of my hands. "Maybe because I'm constantly busy repairing the damage you and your chaos leave behind."

"Chaos?" He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, but his gaze was full of challenge. "You mean the little life I bring into this? If I'm honest, it looks like you could use it."

"Life? Or ego show?" I countered, taking a step forward and glaring at him. "You're so in love with yourself, it almost hurts to watch you."

He laughed softly, a deep, vibrating sound that went through my nerves like an electric shock. "And yet here you are, Emma. Right in front of me. Why don't you just leave?"

"Because..." I faltered, searching for a quick-witted answer, but his gaze held me captive, as if he had seen right through me.

"Because you can't," he said softly, his voice like a whisper that passed right by my mind and struck me somewhere deeper.

"You're so arrogant," I hissed, but my voice sounded less convincing than I wanted.

"And you're so damn controlled," he shot back, stepping even closer until only a breath was between us. "Maybe you should let go, Emma. You have no idea how much you need this."

"Let go?" I laughed, but the laughter sounded hollow, almost desperate. "And what? Give you control? So you can win your little game?"

"This isn't a game," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "You feel it just like I do. The only question is how long you're going to keep denying it."

"You're not my type," I murmured, but even I could hear how weak the words sounded.

"And you're definitely not my type," he shot back, his eyes on my lips as if he couldn't help it. "Maybe that's exactly the point."

"This is wrong." I shook my head, trying to ignore the rising heat inside me.

"Only people who are afraid say that," he murmured, before placing a hand on the wall next to my head and leaning in even closer. "Tell me, Emma. Are you afraid?"

"Afraid of you?" I snorted, trying to catch myself. "Dream on."

"Maybe I am." His breath brushed my skin, and I felt my façade begin to crumble. "Or maybe this is the moment when you finally stop deluding yourself."

Before I could answer, before I could regain control, he tilted his head and kissed me – a wild, demanding kiss that swept all my principles out of the way like a blow.

It wasn't gentle, not hesitant. It was hot, almost angry, a struggle between two people who couldn't stand each other but couldn't get away from each other. I wanted to push him away, to hate him for knowing exactly how much he upset me. But my hands clung to his shoulders as if he were the only constant in a chaos I didn't understand.

"See?" he murmured hoarsely against my lips. 'Not so different after all.'

Just as I was about to forget the world around me, when I was ready to give myself over completely to the moment, I felt everything around me begin to flicker.

I opened my eyes and found myself in my dark bedroom, bathed in sweat and with my heart pounding wildly.

My breathing was labored, and it took me several seconds to realize that I had only dreamed it. "What the hell..." I whispered, running a trembling hand through my hair. But no matter how hard I tried to suppress the dream – his gaze, his touch, his grin were still like a fire that refused to go out.

#fanfiction #wattpad #big time rush #carlos penavega #kendall schmidt #love #btr #enemies to lovers #james maslow #book review #logan henderson #writers on tumblr #new york #unexpected #connection #btr fanfic #new york city #nyc

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