Learn to Love Criticism and Get Good at Rejection

When I was asked if I wanted to write an article for Writer’s Digest offering advice to other writers, my first reaction was no. I did not, and still do not, think of myself as a writer in the traditional sense. I had not published short stories, written guest articles, or spent decades honing my craft. I wrote one book. Before that, the only writing I had done since the 1980s was scientific articles when I worked as a research assistant.

(How I Became a 10-Year Overnight Success Story.)

After thinking it over, I realized I did have something useful to offer. Not advice about plot structure or beautiful prose, but insight into two skills every writer must learn, often the hard way. How to enjoy criticism, and how to embrace rejection.

I came to fiction late. I was almost 60 when I wrote my first novel, and I knew I had a steep learning curve. That awareness turned out to be my greatest asset. I assumed, correctly, that many people knew more than I did, and I was willing to listen. My ego understood the assignment. I needed thick skin, and I grew it quickly.

I drafted my novel in about seven months, starting with an outline and aiming for roughly a thousand words a night. When the draft was complete, I found several beta readers. One, in particular, was a gift. She was detailed, honest, and specific. She told me what worked, what did not, and where the story needed more. I revised exactly what she flagged and sent it back. When she approved the changes, I felt a kind of satisfaction I had not expected.

That was my first lesson. Criticism is not judgment. It is instruction.

Criticism only hurts when you believe it says something about your worth. When you treat it as a set of directions from someone who wants the work to improve, it becomes useful, even energizing. I discovered that I enjoy following directions. Tell me what is confusing, flat, or underdeveloped, and I am happy to fix it. The clearer the critique, the faster the improvement.

Later, when I signed with an agent, I encountered a new vocabulary. I was head-hopping. I was info dumping. These were not insults. They were tools. Once I understood the rules, I revised again and received another stamp of approval. Each round of feedback strengthened the manuscript and made me less defensive as a writer.

If there is one piece of practical advice I can offer here, it is this. Seek out readers who are willing to be specific, and resist the urge to argue with them. You do not have to accept every note, but you should consider each one carefully and try to understand why it was given. Curiosity will take you further than pride ever will.

My second lesson, learning to embrace rejection, took longer, but it proved just as important. I was rejected by many agents. Some passed kindly. Some never responded at all. I am sure my query letter did not help. I revised it endlessly and still despised it. Even now, I can offer no wisdom on how to love your query letter, only reassurance that disliking it seems to be part of the process.

Once I had an agent, I assumed the hardest part was over. I was wrong. I was rejected or ghosted by authors when I requested blurbs. I was rejected by the first publicist I contacted, something I did not even know was possible. Each time, I was surprised, but far less discouraged than I might have been earlier in my life.

Here is what rejection taught me. It is almost never personal.

People are busy. They have full inboxes, tight schedules, limited bandwidth, and priorities that have nothing to do with you or your work. When a well-known author took the time to politely decline a blurb request, I felt honored rather than dismissed. A response, even a no, meant I had been seen.

Eventually, I found myself on the other side of rejection, declining to work with publicists who were not the right fit. That did not feel good, but it clarified something important. Rejection is not a verdict. It is a decision based on timing, fit, and circumstance.

If you want a practical way to reframe rejection, try this. Measure progress by participation, not outcome. Submitting, querying, and asking are successes in themselves. Silence and no’s are simply part of the process.

Now, as I wait for my publication date, I know more criticism and rejection will come, from reviewers, from readers, and from people who simply do not connect with my book. I have also received generous reviews and enthusiastic blurbs. I am content holding both at once.

Writing this book taught me something I did not expect. Resilience is a skill, and skills can be learned. If I had waited until I felt confident, qualified, or immune to rejection, I never would have started. Instead, I learned to listen closely, revise willingly, and keep going.

That, I believe, is advice worth sharing.

Bookshop | Amazon

(WD uses affiliate links)