I Can’t

I can't.

Nope, not one bit. At first, that is.

The fear of rejection is as real as a raging bull elephant trampling you to jelly if you run smack into him in the bush.

Crushing.

It's as real as the Earth is round.

Undeniable.

When I finally build the courage to put my baby out there and it comes back smeared in red ink. Or if my reader says that they have some thoughts...I instantly go on edge. I become defensive. Like a cornered animal I lash out regardless of their intentions. Sure the criticism is probably constructive and will probably help my writing and story, but I am not ready for it.

I know it is for the best, but I want platitudes. Tell me I am good so I can justify my existence! I have no confidence! I cry for help! But I need your criticism, so I can in fact become better.

Shoot me with a dose on tranquilizer and let me ruminate in a hazy of half baked thoughts. Then and only then will I realize the quality of the critique and be able to make use of it.

I can.

Yes, every bit.

But, not at first.