Permeability

Seventeen years ago, when I first was diagnosed with Crohn's disease, I lived across the street from a very special person. When I was hospitalized for weeks and weeks on end, she made sure my oldest daughter (at the time, my only child) was fed and taken care of, even though I know her grocery budget was as tight as mine. She was there for me when even some relatives weren't. When a first cousin I thought of like a sister never bothered to call. And all these years later, Stephanie Vess is still a very special person to me. I would do just about anything for her.

At the same time, a man I considered one of my closest friends, when talk turned to methotrexate (chemo), said, "I can't handle seeing you sick." And he bowed out of my life. I suppose what I SHOULD have thought was "good riddance, fair-weather friend." But instead I thought, how could I have been so poor a judge of character? For though I am far from perfect, loyalty and compassion are two traits I think I value most.

Fast forward . . . seventeen years. In the last year, as I've blogged about, I saw a house of worship I attended fall apart through hypocrisy, unkindness, and self-serving ugliness. And I thought, "How could I have judged a place so wrong?" But, in fact, I had.

In both of these situations, my choices were fairly clear-cut. I could become incredibly cold, and harden my heart. And indeed, for a time, that was where I resided. Or I could decide on some level of permeability and (importantly) absorption and learn and move on.

I decided, eventually, on the latter choice, which I think holds true for tough critiques, rejections, reviews, and the process of learning to write.

Each writer must believe in his or her own work. But it's a foolhardy writer who shuts out ALL criticism. By the same token, no writer should absorb ALL criticism. There's too much professional jealousy, subjectivity, and (frankly) people who don't know what they are talking about to take it all. Instead, I think every writer needs to sit with a criticism, allow what is sensible, right, intelligent, and useful to be absorbed, and let the rest flow on. Finding that place of permeability takes time. You can be criticized by people you later realize were not even your intended audience!

In the "here, let me tell you a story" category, one of my best-reviewed novels was The Roofer. And I received a review years ago from a reviewer who seemed way off base. Her criticisms struck me as deeply personal--so much so that a fan wrote to me to send me this review and to write a defense of the book on my behalf. Then I visited this reviewer's blog and learned she was a born-again Christian who favored novels with virgins as their heroines. Honey . . . I'm not EVER writing THAT book. Which doesn't mean that book shouldn't be written. It's just not MY book. Visiting this woman's site, and reading her obvious biases helped me tremendously. It helped me to see that people are (of course) fallible and subjective. But there were OTHER criticisms (from my writers' group) I had taken along the way in the writing of that novel that were incredibly helpful. Why?

The sources were trusted.

The sources had my best interest (and that of my work) in mind.

Life has handed me incredible betrayals. Betrayals and acts of cowardice I wish I had never been dealt. But along the way, I have learned just how permeable my walls are going to be. And I realize my own experiences are not unique. We all are searching for just how much to let in, how much to protect ourselves, who to trust, who to fling open the doors to. We are learning who the neighbors are who will have your back when you are very, very sick . . . when you think maybe you won't make it.

And writers have the same difficult discernments to make. The blogosphere and cyberspace make it even easier to make connections. They also afford anonymity. Like my sharing here of my van being keyed at a 4th of July picnic, there are people who will use the cover of night (anonymity) to be cruel.

But in the end, when you find the people who have your back--in writing and life--the rewards are endless. Even if it's painful along the way as you define just how permeable your boundaries are going to be.

I am beyond grateful to be where I am. Clarity . . . and just the right amount of permeability . . . are wonderful gifts.

Thoughts?