If, like me, you are a creator of things, I want to know how you deal with criticism. What strategies do you employ? Read my thoughts below, and offer your own insights. I am most curious about your insights.

Anyone who knows me well knows I am awful at accepting criticism. If I could genetically alter my DNA, in fact, I would probably attempt to splice the chemical codes of rubber into my genetic makeup so I could be more resilient. I want to bounce like a bad check and be a good writer, plain and simple.

In therapy for my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, I learned long ago the value of running a “program” when certain events arise. When I am anxious, that is, there are certain strategies I inevitably employ in order to overcome my fears, and they are generally very effective in disarming my inner alarm system. Without those “programs,” my anxiety would run unchecked, and have a decidedly more destructive impact on my life.

When it comes to encountering criticism, at least as it pertains to my personal creative pursuits, I have no “program” to run. The little voice of criticism, like a virus, infects the whole of my being and clouds my creative vision.

That being said, I want to challenge my own assumptions about the nature of criticism. Because criticism is not to be equated with rejection, and it should therefore not impact a person emotionally in the same manner as rejection. (Rejection is another matter altogether, and perhaps another topic for another blog entry.)

My friend Tim, who is wise enough to know he’s a fool, told me shortly before Evie was born that I needed to be resilient when it came to parenthood. I would take a backseat to the baby in my wife’s eyes, he said, and I would need to choose a loving attitude toward my wife and child even when I felt fundamentally unloved. But I am not writing about parenthood. I am writing about resilience as it pertains to being a creator of things. Because I think Tim’s advice applies here too. A creator of things must likewise be resilient, and not allow criticism to land an immobilizing blow.

It would be nice if writers had exoskeletons so criticism would not cause so much internal bleeding. It would be nice, because writers are sensitive enough to the nuances of both the craft and the life that fuels it, that the notion of “developing a thicker skin” to withstand criticism seems like an invitation to disable the very instruments that make the writing life both pleasurable and possible. But perhaps having a thicker skin does not mean shutting out criticism as much as it means protecting one’s most vulnerable organs of insight. Perhaps a “thicker skin” functions like a rib cage in this regard.

Which brings me back to the “program” I mentioned earlier. A thinking strategy for processing criticism with resilience should should challenge faulty thinking and redirect a person to more productive pursuits. Criticism should not land a crippling blow. Rather, it should teach a person how to walk better – how to be more upright, to be less pigeon-toed or duck-footed, etc. It should be corrective, and not destructive. Criticism should be seen for what it is, and not for what it is not.

A few things come to mind for me when I think of resilience in the face of criticism, and I hope you (my five readers) will help me think of some more go-to’s I can consider when I am feeling especially discouraged about my work.

First things first, criticism of a work is not an indicator that the work is fatally flawed. This is indisputably true. One of my favorite films is Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia, and yet I find fault with it on a number of levels. There are elements that are unexplained, and still others that seem beyond the realm of possibility (and I am not referring to the rain of frogs at the end of the film, which I love). But do these criticisms mean the film is fatally flawed? By no means, at least in my book. It remains one of my favorite films, and it could spawn a lengthy and meaningful essay if I chose to sit down and write one.

Second, my creative heroes have all been roundly criticized, and I look up to them for weathering these critical storms and continuing despite them. Whether Lars von Trier is a good man or not is not for me to know. I only know I am continually impressed with and challenged by his films. Dogville, in particular, has been a favorite film of mine for years. I know people who despise it, and have read reviews of the film that lambasted it for being contrived, overlong, and unjustly critical of Americans. But I see something of real merit in this film in the way it explores human nature, and also in the way it foregrounds film’s theatrical roots. I appreciate Lars von Trier as a creator of things, and hope he continues to create, even if his works repel me. Jesus repelled people enough that they killed Him, after all. So why should I expect my work to be embraced by everyone? I tend to appreciate those people who create challenging works, and who remain undeterred by criticism in doing so. Is it not in my best interest, then, to aspire to be such a creator of things myself? To recognize criticism as an inevitable response to my work, and to choose to create confidently in light of this? It is better to assume that, for every critical voice, there will be another voice that says, “I am glad you made this.”

Third, criticism is directly toward redemptive ends, at least when the work is still in process and under the microscope of peer review. People offer criticism because they believe the work is worth redeeming. A work that is beyond redemption, or has no hope of ever being potent, is not worth criticizing. But when people criticize a work in progress, they are responding to a potential they see that has yet to be fully realized. The initial sting of criticism completely eclipses the end to which criticism is directed in this instance: Criticism is a way of saying, “I believe you can make this better,” which is a way of saying “I believe in your potential as a creator of things, and I want to see you reach that potential.”

I want to keep these things in mind as I receive criticism in the future as a writer. Because really, writing at its best is a transcendent thing that should never be cast aside simply because of insecurities. A writer’s voice should never be muted simply because of fear or failure (or fear of failure).

I want to be resilient like my friend Tim wants me to be, and not just in parenthood. I want to be a resilient receptor of criticism as a writer. I want to bounce like a rubber ball from word to word, and lead my readers to sing along with me as I conduct my word symphonies.

“Chad Thomas Johnston is an author, sonuva’ preacha’ man, PhD-dropout, singer/songwriter, music producer/sonic reducer, daydreaming doodler, gorilla/guerilla publicist, cinemaddict, & pop-culture obsessive. He is represented by Seattle, WA-based literary agent Jenée Arthur, who is currently shopping his debut manuscript to major publishing houses.

Follow Him on Twitter: @Saint_Upid

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