Art is subjective. We all know this. It’s why there are award-winning books that you think are terrible. Or why you loaned a book to your best friend because it was the best thing you’d ever read, and she read two chapters before declaring it was boring. That’s how it is with art. Whatever you create, some will love it, some will hate it, and everybody else will fall on the broad spectrum between.

We may understand this in theory, but when it happens to us for real, it’s tough to swallow, isn’t it? You’ve written several chapters or an entire book. You’ve poured an unknowable amount of hours of thought and energy into this story, and then somebody you love reads it and doesn’t like it. There’s no way around it—for most of us, that’s painful.

I have struggled with how to handle this pain ever since I started passing my manuscripts to others to read. In high school I went through a phase of writing a chapter in a story and then giving it to friends for their “honest feedback.” That’s not what I wanted. I wanted praise. And when a friend used words like “romantic garbage” to describe my stories, our friendship imploded. Not only that, but I closed down and vowed to never show anybody my work ever again.

I’ve had other less dramatic situations too. When my debut novel came out, a friend’s husband told me he started reading my book, hated it, and couldn’t make it past chapter one. I didn’t even know how to respond because . . . ouch.

And when the second book in that series came out, a family member said she liked it “better” than book one. Not even better. Just better.

And when talking to a friend about The Lost Girl of Astor Street, she told me, “I’m excited for this one. It sounds more interesting than your other books.” Well . . . great.

While not all of these situations crushed me, all of them hurt me on some level. There’s no magical way to not be hurt when a friend or family member isn’t instantly a Super Fan of your work, but here are some thoughts on managing how you handle it:

Do not expect friends to be fans.

Easier said that done, right?

The need for this mentality didn’t become clear to me until I was on the other side of the table—the friend expected to be the fan.

I used to have a friend who aspired to be a nonfiction author. I wasn’t her target audience, but I could see that she was talented, and I encouraged her as best I could. I read a book proposal for her and offered feedback. I followed her professional accounts on social media. I attended a local event she put on. Even though I didn’t relate to her writing (again, I wasn’t the target audience), I did what I could to support her dream.

One day, out of the blue, I discovered I could no longer see her professional account on Instagram. It was like it didn’t exist. When I texted her to ask if she’d deleted it, she told me she blocked me because I never commented on anything she posted and that deeply hurt her feelings.

Oh, I thought. It wasn’t enough for me to be your friend. You wanted me to be your fan.

While my friend overreacted in a major way, I can relate to the hurt behind her reaction: “If you really love me, why don’t you love this thing that I’ve created?”

Ever since that situation unfolded, I’ve been mindful of the expectations I place on my friends and family. Not long ago, I made a new friend and she bought my books. She texted me to tell me how much she was enjoying The Lost Girl of Astor Street, and I loved hearing that. She’s a wonderful person who I respect, so yes, I really want her to like my books. But I reminded myself that I don’t want liking my books to be a requirement of friendship with me. So I texted back, “That’s so nice of you and I hope you continue to like it. Just so you know, it’s fine if you don’t. I don’t expect my friends to be my fans.”

Sometimes they turn out to be both—which is what happened with this friend—and it’s lovely when that works out. But I don’t expect friends to be on my email list, or to follow my author accounts on social media, or to pre-order my books. I really try to not even expect them to buy my book or read it, but I’m still working on that one.

Give your stories private space to grow.

I’m very private about my works in progress because I’ve learned it’s best for my mental health and the development of my stories. I’m a people pleaser, and I care waaaaay too much about what others think of me and, by extension, my writing. As I talked about in the beginning, I’ve had seasons where I shared chapters while the ink was still drying, and it messed with my voice and my confidence.

While I do share some early thoughts about stories with trusted people—my agent, my husband, and a critique partner—even then the story has been alive in my head for a little while. Ideas need space to bloom without criticism. Without criticism from us, and certainly without criticism from others.

I don’t know who said it first or if I’m even getting this quote right, but I do love the sentiment of it: “Write like your grandma is dead.” We’ve probably all had that moment where we’re writing and then we edit ourselves—I can’t write that! What would my insert-person’s-name-here think? The idea of our grandfather reading that kissing scene or our mom reading that dark torture scene has a way of closing down our desire to create. The only way I’m able to silence that insecurity is by knowing that nobody will be reading this story until I feel ready.

I know some writers say they thrive on criticism and early feedback, but if you don’t, I highly recommend keeping your stories to yourself for a while.

When a fellow writer is hurting, lift them up.

I used to think that the hurt I felt when someone didn’t like my book made me unprofessional. That real writers had thick skin. I don’t think that anymore. I think I’m human and that my skin is fine how it is. I think if I worked hard to have thick skin, there would be other consequences that I don’t want—like an enormous ego and the inability to receive feedback.

While, yes, becoming a published author has a way of helping you get better at receiving criticism, it will still sting if the people you love don’t love your work. I don’t recommend stuffing those feelings down or ignoring their existence. If you can, find a fellow writer who you can talk to. It’s so valuable to share things like, “My friend came to my signing, bought my book, started reading it . . . and then never said anything about it. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like it.”

Whenever I have these conversations with trusted writer friends, they inevitably respond with something like, “Oh, that’s so hard! I always jump to worst case scenarios too.” Even a simple exchange like that can do wonders for lifting my spirits.

What about you? Do you struggle when others criticize your writing?

Stephanie Morrill writes books about girls who are on an adventure to discover their unique place in the world. She is the author of several contemporary young adult series, as well as two historical young adult novels, The Lost Girl of Astor Street and Within These LinesWithin These Lines was a Junior Library Guild Gold Standard selection, as well as a YALSA 2020 Best Fiction for Young Adults pick. Since 2010, Stephanie has been encouraging the next generation of writers at her website, GoTeenWriters.com, which has been on the Writer’s Digest Best Websites for Writers list since 2017. She lives in the Kansas City area, where she loves plotting big and small adventures to enjoy with her husband and three children. You can connect with Stephanie and learn more about her books at StephanieMorrill.comInstagramFacebook, and Twitter.