So I didn't think it would bother me when I handed out my manuscript of The Day We Are Born to various family members and friends - all from editing and writing backgrounds - to take a first peek. Boy, was I wrong.
When you send an article to a complete stranger or a colleague whose very job it is to constructively criticize your writing in order to improve your work, you don't take it personally. Well, not too personally, and after a few years in the industry, you toughen up.
But when you hand over your book, it's like passing your newborn to a friend to hold, who aahs over it for a moment, before saying, 'What's this rash over here?' and 'Don't you think the swaddling's a bit tight?' and 'Seriously, that's what you're going to call your baby?'And you're smiling and making the right noises, but inside you're growling through clenched teeth, 'Yes, I've seen the rash; I am a great mother, you know,' and 'Don't tell me how to look after my baby,' and 'Yes, I love that name, and besides it's too late now because I've told everyone that's the name so there's nothing I can do about it!'
I've had awesome feedback from the select few who I've let put their grubby paws all over my novel, tidying up my grammar for me, suggesting a transition here and there, pointing out clumsy paragraphs, and in one instance, insisting (and rightly so!) in the change of one character's last name.
And at every little pencil mark on the page, I've had to tell myself, 'You are a good mother, you are!'
