Hello Maker,

I refuse to believe it’s December.

Welcome to another edition of the Anti-Advice Column — where I promise no neatly packaged solutions nor foolproof formulas. Instead, it’s the kind of thing where you ask your burning questions, and I ask questions right back. Because the answers that emerge from your own wisdom will serve you best.

Hit reply to send me your questions.

This week’s reader question:

How will you deal with bad critics? (It stops me from sharing publicly)

Here are nine ways of looking at a critic. (With apologies to Wallace Stevens.)

1. I remember the first time I left a snarky comment. Now that I think about it, perhaps it wasn’t my first effort at trolling, but it certainly was the first time I remember. I remember it because the writer clapped back. It was the early 00s; I commented on one of those popular blog websites of the time, the ones full of of personal essays by writers in their 20s living in urban areas dishing about their dating life and their mental health — although we didn’t say “mental health” in casual conversation back then.
   
   From the privacy of my parents’ basement in the suburbs of Winnipeg, I left a comment on one essay to the effect of “this sucks.” My stomach sank when the writer responded with something like, “You jerk!” I was stunned and ashamed. I still remember her name. I was being a jerk. I actually liked a lot of her stuff, though I wouldn’t have admitted to being a fan. I was though. It hadn’t occurred to me that she would read it, let alone be injured by it. How could I not have thought of that?
   
   Can you guess how satisfied I was with my writing and life back then? What are the chances I was lurking in the comment section out of some sense of profound contentedness and abundant relationship with the world?
   

2. After Oprah was publicly attacked and vilified, Maya Angelou said to her “They would have done that without you.” She’s right. Ripping apart an imaginary Other is an energy that exists in the universe. It would go on whether you ever shared your work or not, searching for someone or something to react to. Anything to affirm its desire to see “wrongness out there! Not in me! Can’t be me.”
   
   There will always be people — and I have been one of them — drawing energy from attacking a fictional version of other people. I say fictional because people who attack you for sharing your work are not attacking you. They don’t know you. They can dissect and cancel and snark, but they can only do it to an effigy in some vague shape of you they built. Never your soul, your heart, your mind.
   

3. I don’t believe anyone can actually cancel you. In the worst, worst, publicly-shamed-on-international-level scenario, they can damage your reputation, but you are not your reputation. Look at all the people with terrible reputations they never bothered rehabilitating (because maybe the reputations were accurate, maybe not) living full lives.
   

   

4. I wonder if a lot of fear of criticism is really a fear of being forced by someone else to give up on your profound desires.
   
   But no one, no one, can make you abandon those desires. Your creativity will never abandon you either. It doesn’t read the comments.
   

5. If I received very cruel or pointed criticism, I would probably cry. I hope I would let myself weep very loudly and be very mopey for as long as I needed.
   
   Maybe I’d even want to give up for a while. Then, ultimately I wouldn’t. How do I know that? Because I haven’t yet, and I’ve wanted to give up many times before.
   

6. Agreeing with the critic in a VERY SPECIFIC WAY can also disarm them in your mind. This is NOT to agree, “I am a terrible artist.” That is far too general a criticism to be real and accurate.
   
   Instead, find a way to own up to something that could be improved as concretely and specifically as you can. For example, “yeah, my details over here could use some work.” Big deal! So what? Creative imperfection is still not a crime in any country I’m aware of.

   
   To avoid sinking into a general quicksand of criticism as a verdict on you as a person, distill the criticism to be as manageable and concrete as possible. Then respond… “And what of it? The sun will rise tomorrow.”
   

7. But I like this version of agreeing to disarm the critic even better: Take the critic’s criticism, claim it, and declare how what they disliked is a good thing.

   
   A critic called Van Gogh’s paintings “strange, intense and feverish.” The critic meant it as an insult, but YES THEY ARE! His paintings are exactly those things, and thank goodness for that strange, feverish intensity. I am personally so glad he did not create, “expected, tepid, and placid” stuff.
   
   The quality someone hates will be the precise thing another person needs. You needed that quality; that’s why it’s there.
   

8. People don’t throw stones at what feels invisible or irrelevant or them. If someone is compelled to criticize, it means your work stirred something.
   
   That sting is a reminder you’re in the arena, doing your thing and taking risks that some people would rather you didn’t take. Criticism is proof of life, a signal you’ve hit a nerve and made a mark.
   

   

9. Lastly, and most sneakily, pay attention to how you think about other creators. Not just the ones you love, but the ones who don’t do it for you, whose work makes you cringe a little. Instead of rolling your eyes, try to find one thing to admire and respect. Maybe it’s their nerve. Maybe it’s their relentless commitment to the bit.

   
   Shift your energy toward generosity, even if it feels awkward at first. Why? Because when you stop assuming the worst about others, your subconscious stops assuming the worst about you.

   
   The world becomes less full of imaginary critics and more full of co-conspirators. And suddenly, you’re freer to create — not just in spite of judgment, but with a quiet confidence that generosity might find its way back to you.

   ---

Some prompts to consider:

• Have you ever been the troll? Think back to a time you criticized someone else’s work (even if it was just in your head). What was really going on with you that day? How does that moment feel now?
  

• What’s one piece of criticism you’ve received that stuck with you? Does it reflect more about the critic’s perspective or your own fears?
  

• Picture your worst-case scenario for sharing your work. Go wild. Now keep asking, “And then what?” until you either laugh or realize you’re still here, breathing, and delightful.
  

• What’s one thing someone once hated about your work that actually makes it you? Own it, swagger with it, and imagine your haters rolling their eyes while someone else says, “Wow, I love that!”
  

• What’s the absolute worst critique someone could throw at you? Now imagine responding with a casual, “Yes, and?” What would it feel like to stare it down?

Send me your reactions, your opinions, your… comments.

Love,

Maria

P.S. If you were into this, you’ll probably like my book more?

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