The Time I Was Denounced
What would happen if we took a risk and told people what we loved about their work?
I am seated with my back to the wall in a non-descript independent Bangkok coffee shop with several square faux-wood tables arranged in a four-by-four square. Around the table are my writing partners.
I’ve never attended a writing critique session before, and yet here I am. Sanjay’s writing is up first, he has written a blog post on male toilet etiquette. We have a few giggles about the topic. Toilet humour is always a great cross-cultural bond. The event organiser, AJ, jumps right in, ‘Sanjay, you have a real lack of story and some of your urinal descriptions are way too dense. I think you could do a better job with that.’
When I read the event description titled critique, I thought, ‘how bad can it be?’ Turns out, quite bad. Denunciation meetings were something I had read about in Mao’s Cultural Revolution (read more about this in a previous blog) – what am I doing here?
Next it is my turn to denounce Sanjay. ‘Let me start by telling you what I loved about your blog.’ Sanjay sits up as I say this. ‘I loved how you took something mundane and made it funny, especially the description of large venue trough style urinals.’ I am excited as I see how well he responds to this positive critique. I am even more excited by the prospect of Sanjay repaying the favour and telling me what he liked in my writing.
Zara’s writing is up next. Before we begin, she asks a sensible question, ‘does anyone here read fantasy?’ Blank stares. Asking our group to give feedback on fantasy would be like asking me to sit in on open heart surgery and comment on what didn’t go well.
She’s suitably bombarded with criticism.
‘I thought the main character was in a river.’ ‘I stopped reading halfway through because I was bored.’ ‘I didn’t understand the characters.’ ‘There was too much world building.’ ‘There was too little world building.’
What on earth is she supposed to do with that? Should she take out all of the pieces that the group doesn’t like? When we remove everything that people dislike, we are left with nothing. Imagine if the England football team took the advice of every pundit on what they should change, they would be left with nothing.
By this point I feel awful for Zara. But truthfully, I am more concerned by what is going to come my way next. I zone out of the conversation as Zara continually receives lazy feedback from a couple of guys who genuinely seem to be enjoying themselves.
‘Jack, your turn.’ Thank God I am a notetaker. I open my laptop to my notes page. I turn to Zara to give her some more feedback. ‘I loved your writing because the descriptions took me right to the market where it is set.’ Zara smiles. ‘What else did you like?’
When we tell someone what is working for us, they know what they can do more of. In a world of abundance, we need to know what is right with us, so we can repeat it with intention. Everybody around that table had performed a miracle that day, they had written something from their heart and laid it out in front of people. The best piece of feedback could be, ‘keep writing’.
We have an amazing talent for negativity as humans. The tiny reptilian part of our brain sneaks up on us, unaware that we are in a chilled café and not the dangerous savannahs. Our negativity bias is there for a good reason. For fight or flight. For protection. The scientific consensus is that the human brain hasn’t changed for at least 50,000 years. Think about that.
How much has our world changed in five years? In 50? 500 years is unthinkable. 5,000 is abstract. 50,000 is unfathomable. It is the world of sapiens and neanderthals, fighting ice ages and huge animals. Survival was an everyday fight. It made sense to have a negativity bias. One in which we are alerted to a rustle in the leaves. Usually it’s just the wind, but sometimes it is someone, or something, trying to kill us. Best not to wait, your mind immediately sets off a sequence of events to prime you.
Our brain is built to focus on what is wrong with the world around us. Try and tell yourself otherwise. We catastrophise, we don’t miracle-ise. We lie in bed thinking of what we messed up that day, not what we smashed out of the park. We read into a Microsoft Teams message from our boss saying ‘let’s talk’ that she will fire us, not that she will promote us.
When we give feedback on somebody’s writing, we default to, ‘here is everything I disliked’, not, ‘let me tell you what I loved.’ Creativity doesn’t come from negativity. It comes from abundance. We live in a world of abundance, if only we saw it.
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper”.
William Butler Yeats.
When it came to my turn to be denounced, I will spare you the suspense, I was. ‘Your polymath descriptions sounded like Wikipedia.’ ‘Your website is shit.’ ‘This comes across as a puff piece about you.’ The last comment stung because it touched on something I already worried about – the fine line between sharing your journey and sounding like you're bragging about it. I am not saying I am J.K. Rowling (is that a risky reference!?) but I wasn’t sure what I could do with that ‘feedback.’
Some of our greatest creatives of the 20th century were roundly denounced. Steve Jobs said:
“Customers don’t know what they want until we’ve shown them.”
Do I feel I have the same visionary foresight as Steve Jobs, of course not. Do I appreciate the sentiment that to build my Wildest Dream, there will be countless people who disagree with what I am doing and perhaps bruise my ego? Yes.
What did it do for me, to be told what I’d done was worse than toilet humour? I suppose I felt nothing. I realised I didn’t need these strangers to tell me what I had done was great. I needed these strangers to tell me they disliked my blog, because that is the journey I am on.
One year ago, I wouldn’t even post on LinkedIn out of embarrassment for sharing my ideas. Now I am publishing a bi-weekly blog and actively sharing it with the world. What does criticism do for me? It creates a thicker skin, it builds resilience, it shows you who your customers really are.
That evening, I received an email from an ex-colleague I massively respect. ‘This is nice!’ in response to my latest blog post. What else do I need?
Where are you listening to the critics? Where do you need to let go of what they say and focus on what you know is the right thing to be doing?
Deepen Your Curiosity
Brené Brown is the world leader on being vulnerable enough to live to your fullest potential. Marcus Buckingham is one of the modern founders on focusing on what is right with people and right with the world. Will Guidara is a real life example of someone who has always doubled down on what his organisation is amazing at.
Daring Greatly by Brené Brown.
Love and Work by Marcus Buckingham.
