There’s nothing wrong with legitimate criticism — in fact, it should be welcomed. But don’t mistake nasty put-downs for useful advice.
Guild Gazette article 01 November 1971
It’s November 1971, and my first article in the university’s student newspaper has appeared. This was a significant moment for me in several ways:
First, it was the first article I’d had published which wasn’t a straightforward information piece.
Secondly, it represented my first attempt at writing a lighthearted article, having spent many years reading articles by the likes of Cassandra in the Daily Mirror, Christopher Ward, Keith Waterhouse, and Paul Jennings.
Thirdly, it was the first of what was to become a weekly column running through my three years at the university under the heading The Terry Freedman View.
Only three people said anything about the article to me directly (the editor received positive feedback in the post):
“Is this meant to be uproariously funny or something?”
“It’s very clever. Perhaps too clever.”
“I can see what you’re trying to do, but I don’t think you have quite achieved it.”
What do you notice is lacking from any of these comments? No word of congratulation. No word of advice. Only put-downs. I’m so glad that I am pretty thick-skinned, or my writing career, and the enjoyment and income that it has entailed, would have been stillborn.
Don’t get me wrong: I am very open to criticism, by which I mean I am very open to subjecting my writing to critical analysis. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t keep signing up to creative writing courses, whereby you pay for the privilege of having your work torn apart! But none of those comments is criticism in the academic sense of the word. Like I said, they are just put-downs.
Want to be a writer? Get used to it. Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, recently tweeted:
Polite note to readers: If you happen not to like an author's book, please don't: a) write a "review" in the form of a letter to them, asking them not to write any more in the series: b) copy them into this by social media. There's an easier way: JUST DON'T READ THEIR BOOKS.
— Joanne Harris (@Joannechocolat) October 22, 2019
Getting back to those comments:
No, it wasn’t meant to be uproariously funny, just a lighthearted reflection on a particular aspect of my life at the time.
What does “too clever” mean? I tried to round off the article in a way which brought it back to the start. How would you have ended it?
How would you have tried to pull off whatever it is you think I was trying to achieve?
Here’s something you need to bear in mind, because perhaps you can extrapolate it to your own situation:
It was I, not they, who studied the student newspaper, identified a gap in the coverage, and went to see the editor in order to ask if I could fill it.
It was I, not they, who wrote an article week after week for three years, in addition to my studies, while they were in the pub.
It was I, not they, who built up a following, people who turned to my column before they looked at anything else in the paper (I found this out by accident).
It was I, not they, who took the risk of having something published under my own name for thousands of other students to read.
There are people who do something, and people who only criticise. Don’t listen to them! If you have something to say, say it. Write, blog, post photos on Instagram. Whatever allows you to express yourself. Don’t let your voice be silenced by people who do not, whatever you make think, wish you well.
And now, here’s that first article. It’s not brilliant literature, and I hope I write better now than I did 48 years ago. But I don’t think it’s terrible, and at the end of the day, at least I did it!
Who needs friends!
I think it might have been my friend Lawrence who said, "Essentially you can come around anytime you like" (Lawrence ALWAYS says 'essentially'). This is, of course, what friends are for, but it does not apply in all cases. I have often called on friends and been rapidly shown the door.
For instance, I once called on my friend Jeff at eleven-thirty at night (which I thought was a not unreasonable hour). He came down in his pyjamas, his eyes hardly being able to keep open, and hinted, by falling asleep in my presence, that it was rather late, and he wanted to get to bed.
Door to be bolted
On another occasion, I was in Hendon, not three miles from where my friend Laura lives. After driving for half an hour trying to find her turning, and another fifteen minutes trying to find her home, I arrived on her doorstep at about ten past twelve at night, and was shown to her room, obviously having interrupted her sleep. After ten minutes of chatting I was informed that when everyone went to bed the door had to be bolted from the inside, and so I took the hint and left.
Since then I've been more careful, since I don't want to lose ALL my friends. Like the other night, instead of arriving at Tamara's home unexpectedly at ten thirty, I phoned her beforehand. When I arrived she said, "I suppose you want feeding?" and then made me coffee. When the conversation petered out for half a second or so, she said, "Well, this IS fun." Later, she told me it was a good thing I phoned because she would have been having a bath (was that a hint?)
The point of all this is that I seem to be the sort of person who always drops in at an inconvenient time. I never pop round when my friends are not doing anything. They are always having a bath or going to sleep. I've tried Lifebouy soap, but it still hasn't made much difference. ,
Lacking in devices
There must be some sort of remedy. It would be hard for me to stop calling on friends, since it is my nature to do so. Perhaps what our society is lacking is devices to make it possible to condense six hour's sleep into ten seconds, or an hour's bath into five seconds. I myself have found the answer to the first. What I do is take six tablespoons if coffee, put it into a cup, add a thimbleful of hot water with no milk, and rink it after sleeping for ten seconds. I am working on the second problem, and have come up with some promising results. I have adapted my vacuum cleaner to clean me. It's much dryer than and just as good as a bath, but so far I haven't managed to cut the time taken by very much. (Is it not always the case Was it not so with Hero's steam engine, so many generations ago?)
But I think there is only one real answer: to find a new group of friends who won't mind me dropping in at one in the morning if I happen to be passing within five miles of their home. But then, what if they come round to me late at night? I might be trying to sleep, or taking a bath .. .