For me, even the most well-intended criticism of my writing stings initially. An electric shock goes off in my brain. I can practically hear a buzzer going off, the kind used in game shows. It says, You are incorrect! Wrong. You have failed, failed, failed.

After the initial shock, an unexpected transition sometimes happens. I see things I was unable to see before.

Good writing criticism is chocolate wrapped in a thin, sour shell. At first it tastes awful. It zings the tongue. It triggers resistance. But once the shell melts away, the taste of chocolate delights as you imagine exciting new possibilities. You watch with fascination as metaphors enliven flat prose. You see how strong action verbs energize writing. You see vague phrases resolve into clarity.

Good criticism is not discouraging. Its goal is to make the writer more powerful in accomplishing her artistic objective, whether it is to create an illusion of real life, share a personal experience, or create a world.

Unfortunately, criticism rarely works to increase the power of writers. Many people see criticism as tearing down, not building up. They focus on the negatives and ignore the good. Maybe this is because all the average person knows about criticism is the book and movie reviews they have read. But book critics are not there to support writers or further their artistic growth.

They are there to write reviews that will interest readers; unfortunately, scathing, intellectual-sounding reviews titillate. They satisfy the craving for conflict. They make the reader feel superior to the writer without even having read the book.

Some critique group members rely on the model they know best. Their criticism discourages; it does not further growth or mastery. In fact, very little in our society works to promote mastery in writers. It does the opposite.

Young children know mastery. They may be helpless in most areas of their lives, but they are gods of the page when they draw or write. The blank page is not intimidating but exciting. They see endless possibilities to explore. They draw or write what they like. They experiment. They enjoy every moment.

As they grow, education – or sometimes ridicule – makes them aware of their skill limitations, and the feeling of power goes away. They are taught that there is a right way and a wrong way to write. They are taught that what they like is unimportant and that only what “the reader” wants matters.

They are taught that in order to write properly, they must show maturity by learning to take criticism. But few ever mention which criticism is worth listening to and which is not.

Rather than owning their work, many children lose their early confidence and become dependent on authorities to tell them what to do. As they progress, they internalize criticism. As a result, they dread writing and beat themselves up for procrastinating.

As adults some of them go to critique groups to be told what they are doing right or wrong. Unfortunately, there are critics in critique groups who know just enough to be dangerous. They are the inveterate rule quoters. Often their rules are not rules at all but only preferences. They police “violations” all the same.

Rather than looking at individual cases, they apply their “rules” across the board without considering specific circumstances: “Show, don’t tell;” “Never say very;” “Only use the word that if the sentence makes no sense without it;” Keep yourself out of your work, take out the word I.”

Others are dogmatic about genre conventions. I once heard an editor say, “In the fantasy genre, novels always begin with action scenes. The only exception I can think of is Brandon Sanderson, and, well, he is Brandon Sanderson. Do you look like Brandon Sanderson?”

Sadly, this seems to be what many people expect from editors and critique groups: rule drilling. Under-confident, many writers reach for absolutes. They want to be right. They are terrified of being wrong. They have forgotten what every child artist knows, that what they like matters.

You can follow rules all day, you can perform them perfectly, but without the artist, without individual artistic taste, experiences, and judgment, you will not have art.

Writing is subjective. Rules are only rules of thumb. They are only instruments meant to serve, not whip the writer into quivering submission. However, most people are used to having a teacher or boss telling them what to do. Obeying rules feels natural. Flouting them feels stubborn, egotistical, and immature.

However, a slavish adherence to rules works against artistic growth. Writers need to break the rules sometimes. An example is “Show, don’t tell.” If you apply the rule in every case, you lose a powerful writing tool: exposition. Exposition is the glue that holds pivotal scenes together. For example, if you want to get a character home from a party, you do not want to include the car scene if it is unimportant to the story action.

“She drove home” is enough of a transition. Showing the character driving home, describing the smell of vinyl car seats or the window view of cows grazing or the specific turns the character makes does nothing for the story except slow it down

Exposition also gives the writer a way to zoom in and out based on what is important to the writer and what is less important. Showing brings emphasis to a scene, spotlights it. Telling lets less important but necessary details recede into the background where they belong.

Beginning writers are particularly vulnerable to being brow-beaten by rule Nazis when the ultimate goal is for writers to develop the ability to judge for themselves what a specific problem calls for.

Beginning writers are already masters of their own work in that the ultimate decisions rest with them. Like a kindergartner with a crayon, they are free to create what they like and leave out what they dislike – but too often they are led to believe otherwise.

Not even a beginner should make changes to her work based on criticism if she does not know why she is making them or feels like the changes will hurt her story. Art is one of the few areas in life where most anyone can experience freedom, but many critics, editors, and advice givers work against it.

Any skill, any knowledge, any rule of thumb, any criticism should augment the power of the artist, not turn them into self-conscious rule slaves.

Though I have benefited from criticism in every book I have written, it has played a small role in my growth as a writer. Writing is the best teacher, and there are many awesome books that teach the basics of the craft.

But the most important asset any writer can have is a love of writing. A writer who loves writing will write a lot. She will not procrastinate. She will not struggle against herself as she sits down to write. She will enjoy writing and because she does, others are likely to enjoy it too.

Anything that interferes with the love for writing is dangerous to creativity and needs to be jettisoned at once, because love – as kindergarteners know – is the most essential ingredient for mastery.

If you enjoyed this post you might like my other writing. Take a moment and sign up for my free starter library. Click here. Also my new novel “Remembering the Future” is available for purchase on Amazon.