It’s not you, it’s me.
Last night ended one of the briefest relationships of my life, about a week and a half total.
I had been asking everywhere for a critique partner (CP). Who knew they were so hard to find? To my surprise, not one, but THREE wonderful writers ended up being interested in sharing work and feedback with me.
One in particular was ready to jump right in. I read her synopsis and thought, Oh No. Then I read some of her work and thought, Oh Yes! This girl has talent.
We exchanged a few emails, and it became clear that I’m quite a bit older than she, and also that our writing styles were a bit different. (Is her voice more authentic because she’s younger? Perhaps. Probably.)
Well, I was getting the feeling that we might not be clicking, but I was willing to keep trying.
I wasn’t entirely surprised, though, when I got this from her last night: “At this point in time I think our critiquing styles don’t match very well, so I’m not interested in exchanging any more chapters.”
I was surprised, though, at how much I cared. I found myself wondering: was it something I said/did/wrote? It was like that boy in fourth grade who sent me a note saying he liked me, and then in person ignored me! Sigh.
Of course, I don’t know this writer except via emails, so I had little to go on. I’m sure she’s awesome. More awesome than that boy in fourth grade, anyway.
Now that I have nearly 24 hours’ worth of reflection, I realize how grateful I am that neither of us tried too hard to make it work.
And in the meantime, my other two CPs and I have started a critique group, which is very exciting, and all three of us are engaged in the process.
So much of writing seems to be just figuring out where to best spend your energy: writing? querying? critiquing? thinking? tweeting? blogging? drinking? Hmm. Maybe not that last one . . .