Wanted: Thick Skin

I'm curled in a near-fetal position, in writer's agony. At alternating moments I'm thinking, "This is actually pretty good" and then, "No one will ever want to read this."

Both refer to the same piece of work.

I've held the editor's pen enough to know that no one - no one - produces a flawless piece on a first or even second draft. A writer can always find ways to improve her story. The only thing that ultimately stops the revision cycle is a deadline. Logically, I know that review and revision are part of the job.

My reviewers gave both constructive criticism and complimentary responses that are helpful and consistent with the other reviewers. All but one, that is. He just didn't like it - any part of it. So why is his review the one that I replay in my mind? Why is it the one that paralyzes me? Why is it the one that makes me want to crawl up in a ball and whine, "I can't do this"?

Why can't I just brush it off and say, "You can't please all the people all the time"?

It's the fact that my emotional response to his criticism is overpowering my logical response to all the others that is agonizing right now.

But I've got to get over it. After all, I've got a deadline to meet.