My latest book in progress was just returned by my editor. I was discouraged by all of the red marks and notations in the columns. I thought I’d sent some of my best work and still most pages required at least one revision.
It’s not easy to accept criticism, no matter how well-intentioned. Even when I hired someone to find and point out my mistakes, I didn’t like it.
My editor is positive and encouraging. She makes suggestions and leaves it up to me whether to implement them. Her role is to inform me of problems she sees and not to force me to make changes. My words shine brighter and have more clarity after following her suggestions. They are still my thoughts, just an improved version.
Can you think of a time you’ve been given helpful advice and took it as a personal attack? I certainly can. It hurt and I didn’t want to hear it. My first instinct was to put up a wall to block it out and protect myself.
Many times I’ve had to take a step back and seriously consider whether this feedback is valid. It is then up to me to decide if I want to discard or act upon it.
I am learning to appreciate those who act in my best interest by pointing out things I may not have been aware of. The process isn’t always pleasant but does have benefits. The revisions I choose to make because of the feedback can help me shine brighter and become an improved version of me.











My husband and I went to the mountains for a weekend escape. We arrived at night so weren’t able to take in the view until the next morning.
I have a friend whose son has recently achieved his longtime dream of becoming a commercial pilot. She told me a story of one of his first flights and gave me permission to share.
My frustration level was high and I wanted to quit. “It’s no use,” I thought. “I’ve never been artistic and just can’t do this.”
My husband and I have just returned from a mini-vacation. We travelled a little over an hour from home and spent three nights in the mountains.
Most of the carrots in our garden grew side by side. Not these two. They grew together, one wrapping itself around the other.
Canadian Thanksgiving has its origins in Europe, where festivals of thanks and celebrations of harvest took place in the month of October.
I was a participant in a project that had its unveiling at a recent community event. Twelve artists and twelve writers were paired up several months ago. Each pairing was given a sample of their partner’s work. We then created a piece inspired by that of our partner.
I had every intention of dealing with them last week, and the week before. At the very least, they should have been sorted and counted.