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greenerteacups · 3 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 · 30 days ago

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Unexpected Connection - Logan Henderson

Chapter 5

Logan

The restaurant was casual and relaxed, the soft lighting casting soft shadows across the table, the wine in our glasses a deep red, reflecting in the candlelight. We sat together, the boys and I, as if nothing had ever happened, as if we had never stopped on this crazy journey. And somehow it was. We had been through a lot in the last few years, but now it was that familiar, exuberant mood that had always connected us – just like in the old days.

"I swear, the best days were always when we were just hanging out together," Kendall said and downed the rest of his red wine in one gulp. 'Do you remember when we hid the cameras and Logan was convinced the crew would never find them?"

I laughed and raised my hands. 'Hey, I really thought that was genius. Those things were tiny – at least for the first twenty minutes."

Carlos shook his head and started snickering. "Logan, you ruined the entire shooting schedule with that stunt! I remember how the director almost had a nervous breakdown. In the end, we had to apologize collectively to the whole crew – and all because you absolutely wanted to play hide and seek!"

"Oh, come on, you were all in on it," I defended myself and clinked my beer with Carlos. 'We all survived it and kept our jobs, didn't we?"

"Yeah, because Carlos went down on his knees to the producers like a madman,' James interjected, pulling a grimace. "That was, I think, the moment when I first considered just punching you in the face, Logan!" James added with a laugh.

"I just made sure that we all continued to get work and didn't sabotage ourselves right from day one," Carlos countered with mock outrage, but couldn't stop laughing. "But Logan, with you it often felt like you saw yourself less as an actor and more as a chaotic ringmaster on set."

Kendall laughed and raised her glass to Carlos. "Honestly, Logan, you were the king of chaos. Script? Pff, what for? Stunts? Let's do something more dangerous! Crew mad? No problem, see you tomorrow! You kept everyone on their toes with your ideas."

"A little creativity never hurt anyone," I said innocently and shrugged.

"Creativity? Logan, sometimes what we allowed ourselves was borderline," Carlos shook his head and grinned. "And then I always had to pretend that I was the responsible one in the group."

"Yes, exactly!" James snorted. "Carlos, you never slowed us down! At most, you pretended to slow us down, just to kick ass at every after-party yourself."

Carlos rolled his eyes, but grinned crookedly. "Come on, I had to make sure that none of you did any nonsense on your own. If we're going to spread chaos, then at least do it together – team spirit and all that."

We all burst out laughing, the confusion of our voices blending perfectly at that moment and taking us back to the old, wild days for a brief instant. "All right, okay, we definitely overdid a few jokes," Carlos admitted, "but it was the best time, right?"

"Absolutely," Kendall said, raising his glass. 'Sometimes when I think back, I feel like we produced more chaos than content."

"That was our secret!' James interjected. "The show was really just an excuse to wallow in chaos 24/7."

We all laughed and clinked our glasses again before I took a deeper sip from my glass. I could feel how much we had all enjoyed that time that evening. And yet I knew that we would also get lost in conversations in which we would tease each other.

"Speaking of..." Carlos said, putting down his glass and looking at me with a curious look. 'Did you notice that Lydia wasn't in a good mood when we left?"

"Yeah, I noticed that too,' Kendall said, who had apparently picked up on the situation in the same way. "She was really tense when we said goodbye. What was going on?"

I sighed and leaned back, looking thoughtfully into my glass. I knew that the moment would come eventually, that they would bring it up.

"Hm... I guess it could be me," I finally said, shrugging. "I had a little run-in with the hotel manager today – Emma White. She was pretty... well, direct."

"Direct?" Kendall repeated, and I could already see the sharp grin on his face. 'I don't think that's enough to piss her off that much. What did you do, Logan?"

"I complained a little bit about my room. She wasn't too thrilled about it,' I said, trying to make it sound casual. But I knew that no matter how serious the situation was, it would always make the guys smirk.

"The hotel manager stood up to you, Logan?" Carlos' voice sounded almost too surprised to be true. "That's almost... an enlightening moment."

"Do you feel like you've finally found a woman who can really stand up to you?" James asked with a broad grin that almost made him look a bit too mischievous. "That must be it! It sounds like she's the first person who really knows how to put you in your place."

"What?" I said, trying to play it down. But it was too late, the damage was already done. The guys looked at me like they'd found the holy grail.

"Oh man, you really need to explain what happened," said Kendall, sitting down a little further. "You can't just say that a hotel manager gave you an announcement and then act like it's nothing. You somehow managed to always show us a little bit that you were the big guy. But here... she probably stole your show."

"Great, now you're telling me about the woman who stands up to me,» I said, leaning back in my chair to appear more relaxed. "She just gave me a little... advice on how to do things right here at the hotel. End of story.»

"Oh, Logan, you're amazing,» James laughed. "You never really realized that not everyone is impressed by you, did you?"

"Oh, give me a break," I mumbled while the guys laughed. 'It really wasn't that big of a deal."

"I don't know, Logan,' Carlos said, grinning from ear to ear. "It almost sounds like she threw a wrench in your plans a little bit. And now you're here trying to tell us she didn't teach you a lesson?"

"Guys, seriously, stop. She didn't teach me anything," I said, even though I knew that was exactly what they were doing. "It was just a... little discussion. But if you all enjoy it so much, then enjoy it."

"Do you know what this means, Logan?" Kendall said, winking at me. "It just means we found a woman who matches your level of skill. Now you have to ask yourself if you're ready to finally look at yourself in the mirror."

I rolled my eyes and tried not to get too involved in the conversation. But inside, I knew that they had hit the nail on the head. Emma White was definitely not the kind of woman you could easily overlook. And something about the way she had stood up to me didn't let go of me as quickly as I would have liked.

Emma

As we entered the Italian restaurant, I immediately felt the tension of the working day melt away. The familiar warmth, the smile of the waiter who greeted us – all of this made me feel at home. It was the perfect place to clear my mind, and to be honest, I couldn't wait to relax with Eliot.

There was a pleasant lightness to the evening. Eliot and I sat at our table, surrounded by the familiar scent of Italian food—fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil wafting through the air. The wine was good, and we talked about old times. About my childhood, the chaotic days with my parents, and our little quirks that always made us laugh.

Eliot took another sip of wine, swirled the glass, and then looked at me with a mischievous grin. "Remember when I wrecked Dad's car?"

I felt my face change instantly as the memory came back. "Oh God, stop it, please. You mean the car that you treated like a race car when you were 17?" I asked, with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"Yes, that's the one!" he laughed, leaning back.

"And do you remember how you took all the blame even though it was really my fault?" Eliot grinned when he saw the look on my face, which immediately darkened.

I let out an annoyed sigh and looked at him. "I can't believe you're bringing that up now," I said, taking another sip from my glass to organize my thoughts. "And I was still so stupid and took the school on myself. I got three months of house arrest and a cell phone ban because of you!" 'Hey, who was your slave for half a year and did everything for you?' Eliot defended himself, raising his hands in supplication.

"That's right!" I laughed. "And it was the best six months of my life. You really took care of me."

We laughed some more, as we always had. It was one of those intimate, relaxed evenings that you rarely get – and even more rarely enjoy when you're always in the hustle and bustle of life.

After a while, the conversation became a bit more casual, and Eliot, never at a loss for a joke, brought up the topic of something that visibly threw me off track.

"By the way," he said suddenly, glancing at the restaurant, 'when are you finally going on a date again?"

"Eliot,' I said with a sharp look. 'Not now."

"Come on,' he grinned. "You know I always keep an eye out for possible candidates for you. Look at the guys here – there's bound to be someone here who meets your standards."

"What do you mean by 'my level'?" I raised an eyebrow and took a swig of wine. 'You're not serious, are you?"

"Yes, sure,' he said with a smile that I recognized immediately. He pointed with a finger in the direction of the table directly behind me. "There, for example..."

I turned to the first man he pointed to. A guy in a dark blue suit who seemed a bit too perfect to me. The way he adjusted his glasses had something of a law clerk who had just made it out of college.

"Oh yes, sure," I said dryly, 'he's a bit too businesslike for me. And do you know that I don't feel like talking to someone who's always talking about stocks and taxes?' I then turned back and tapped my glass. 'Not for me."

Eliot laughed. 'You're impossible. But okay, we'll keep looking."

He pointed to a second guy sitting by the window, sipping an espresso. "You might like this one. He looks like an artist, a bit mysterious, don't you think?"

I had to admit, the guy had this mystical aura – he was short, wearing a striking leather jacket and a strange cap. The look in his eyes seemed to come from a completely different world.

"It's really not my style, Eliot. He looks like he talks about artistic topics all day while smoking expensive cigarettes. No, thanks," I said with a wry smile.

"Really? He has exactly the right flair for you," he just said and kept laughing. "Okay, okay, but you won't be able to deny that there is a lot more choice here."

As he said this, I realized that he had let his gaze wander through the restaurant again, and then he pointed to another table, this time in the corner of the room. I turned slowly and looked where he was pointing without really thinking.

And then my heart stopped for a moment.

"What?" I said in a whispering tone and almost dropped the wine when I saw him.

"Over there. The one in the middle. What do you think of him?" Eliot grinned as he pointed at the table.

I just stared – there sat Logan. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly the room was a bit too loud, the atmosphere much too dense. Logan, together with his band colleagues.

I could have recognized him anywhere, but it felt completely different to see him now. He was sitting there, smiling and with a glass of red wine in front of him, his bandmates next to him, laughing, enjoying themselves. But he – he looked like he recognized me right now, just as I recognized him. And that's exactly what I didn't want.

"Oh God," I murmured. "He's here."

"Who? The guy with the band?" Eliot asked, apparently unaware of what was going on inside of me.

"Yes," I said, forcing myself to remain calm. But inside, it felt like my heart was racing through my chest. "He's the... the guy I told you about."

"Ah, you mean Logan Henderson?" Eliot grinned even wider. "Oh, that's interesting. And what are you doing now?"

I ignored him. My eyes were fixed on Logan, who now seemed to be looking at me too. In that moment, I knew that there were no more ways out.

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