Charlotte Rains Dixon

The Moment Y'All Have Been Waiting For Has Arrived

Finally, I have a chance to explain what the word ekphrastic means.  I can barely remember how to spell it now.  And, funnily enough, Wikipedia spells it differently than I do.  I got my spelling from Alvin Knox, the brilliant poet and my fellow colleague at The Loft, and truthfully?  Even though I am guilty of using Wikipedia for everything, I trush Alvin's spelling more, because, well, he knows everything about poetry and besides he comes originally from Idaho, where my ancestors hail from, so of course that means he is correct.

Ekphrastic poetry is poetry based on art.  Broadly, one could use the term ekphrastic to refer to any kind of writing based on art.  Alvin did a great lecture on this subject when I was in Nashville a couple weeks ago.  He passed out pictures of art and we were all supposed to write pieces based on it.  He had some really great questions that you could use to jog your writing muscle, such as:

• Does this work represent our sense of reality, or does it create its own?
• What detail, other than the central figure, most intrigues you?
• What things or objects in the work seem familiar?  Unfamliar?
• What is your basic emotional reaction to the piece?
• If you could ask the artist one question, what would it be?

And so forth.  There were many more questions and they were all similarly helpful.  He also gave us a handout that listed the various approaches used in ekprhasis, which include:

• Description which lends insight to the art
• Telling a story based on the art
• Responding to a theme or emotion suggested by the art
• Writing from the point of view of the artist
• Using the artwork to explore a personal issue

Again, this is only a brief list.   Apparently, ekphrastic poetry is growing in popularity.  There's even a journal devoted exclusively to it, called, amazingly, Ekphrasis: A Poetry Journal.  Has a ring to it, don't you think? 

I love anything to do with art, because I have a minor specialty in writing about it. I've written tons of features about artists for various magazines, and done copywriting for art colleges and galleries.  I'm also a firm believer that studying art can teach you to write better.  Why?  Because the essence of studying art is to really look closely at a piece of work, until you have deconstructed and figured out every little tiny piece of it.  And being able to deconstruct a piece of writing is one way to get to the heart of it.  When we first start out as writers, this is something that takes a lot of work to accomplish.  But the more we write and read, it becomes a near-intuitive process.

I also have a soft spot in my heart for ekphrasis poetry because the best poem I ever wrote is ekphrastic.  It is based on a tapestry hanging in the Speed Art Museum in Louisville (which is pronounced Loo-uh-ville, and you say those first two syllables as fast as you can, for those of you who've never been there). 

There's a whole long story behind the poem which has to do with my first residency in the MFA program at Spalding, and how I had to write a @#$%^ poem, which I was certain I wouldn't be able to do, and how I moaned and groaned and wrang my hands and finally skipped dinner (which wasn't as much of a sacrifice as you might think, because dinner was in the Spalding cafeteria and everything was fried) and sat in the computer lab by myself and obsessed until the poem came out.  And then it got chosen as one of the poems to be featured and was a huge success.  Which taught me that it is usually better to write than eat dinner, a lesson I seem to have forgotten over the last couple years.

The connection in the poem is Louis, the Sun King, which Louisville is named after, and my own son Lewis, which is spelled in the way we spell it out here in the wild west, and the poem is about, basically, how odd and wonderful it is to have a son, because basically, he is male, which might as well be that he is a different species.  And that's all I'm going to say because I think now that I've discovered Ekphrasis, the journal, I'm going to submit to them.

The moral of this very long post which happened to take a couple unexpected turns is this:  try incorporating writing about art into your repetoire.  You don't have to become an art critic or even know much about art.  Find some art you like and use it as an entry point for your writing.  You might focus on the color in the background of a painting and end up writing a description you can use in your novel.  Or you might write about a person in the painting and end up with the beginning of a short story.  Visual cues can be very powerful.

Here are a couple of websites that have images for starters, courtesy of Alvin Knox:

Smithsonian American Art Museum

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

The Getty Museum

The Guggenheim

Ialso found this site about ekphrastic poetry, and Alvin recommends The University of Virginia website page on it.  Next time you are blocked in your writing, check out one of these sites, find yourself a piece of art, and start writing about it.

Stop The World, I Want To Get Off

I don't really, but remember that old movie?  Or was it a musical?  Or just a joke?  I don't know, I think it was a little before my time, but it is such a great sentence.  And it kinda describes how I feel today.  Or how I felt this morning.  I'm feeling better now, having completed a couple of assignments today and dug around in one of my in-boxes for missing emails.

But I still have not told you what ekphrastic means and it has been so long I've probably forgotten myself.  And I have over 100 message pertaining to my blog in my gmail account.  And comments to respond to.  And nary a post from these hands in days. Arrrggghhh.

A quick recap:  I got home from the great state of Tennessee on Friday night.  Linda and I left Gatlinburg that morning, and she handed me off to Candace at the O'Charley's parking lot at the Lebanon exit off I-40.  Now some of y'all know right where that is.  Right across the freeway is yet another meat and three called the Sunset Diner, and Candace insisted on taking me there, even though I had made a solemn vow never, ever to eat at a meat and three before getting on an airplane.

But this one had coconut pie.  Which is almost, but not quite, as good as coconut cake. 

While the pie digested Candace drove me around and around and around and around the airport telling me about the play she is going to write.  And, I am happy to report that she is actually writing again.  She better keep it up, too, or there is going to be hell to pay.

Anyway, my plane stopped in Ontario, California, and then I had to change planes in Oakland and that plane was late and so by the time I got home to Portland and got in bed in was almost midnight and I realized I'd been up nearly 24 hours.  I fell asleep on the plane for awhile, which I just hate the thought of because I was probably snoring or at the very least my mouth was no doubt hanging open in an unattractive way. 

The next day, despite spirit lag, that weird state that happens when your spirit is still in the place you left but your body is in the place you've arrived, I worked all day at the Centennial Celebration of OCAC.  The beloved daughter organized the event.  She is probably the only human on the planet who could have convinced me to do that in the state I was in.

Actually, it was a blast and incredibly successful.  For those of you who don't know, OCAC is the Oregon College of Art and Craft, an amazing private art college tucked away in the west hills of Portland.  It really is 100 years old, and in the middle of a capital campaign to update the campus, and on Thursday night at the chi-chi party for donors and board members, they were able to announce a $1.5 million donation.  Nice, huh?

Just two days earlier, I'd been perusing the gift shop at Arrowmont, another well-known craft school located in Gatlinburg, so the week definitely had a craft theme.  As well as a musical comedy and country music theme.  I probably shouldn't admit this, but I kinda fell in love with Gatlinburg.  I mean, you just have to love a place where gorgeous crafts, tacky t-shirt shops, trout streams and Ripley's Believe It or Not all exist side by side.  And let us not forget the stores named "God's World," and the wedding chapels.

If the bottom falls out of the writing market, I'm moving to Gatlinburg and starting a wedding chapel.  You think I'm kidding, but I am an ordained minister with three weddings under my belt, so I could so do that.

So, all this is by way of saying, forgive me for being gone?  And I promise I'll be back to my regular self now.  First up will be the post you've all been waiting for:  the explanation of ekphrastic. 

Don't jump up and down quite so high, you'll hurt the ceilings.

Still Waiting on That Ekphrasis Definition....

...because I have a good story to tell.

Yesterday Linda and I set off from Gatlinburg to visit the Biltmore Estates in Asheville, North Carolina.

But, ahem, we kinda got lost.  Okay we really got lost.  (Note to self and everyone else: do not rely on those in-car navigation systems.) I was driving Linda's gigo SUV and the tiny, curvy mountain roads kept getting tinier and curvier.  And then even tinier and curvier.  And finally the road we were on petered out onto a very tiny, almost non-existent dirt road.

As providence would have it, a motorcycle had roared around us a short time earlier on the road, and now, eureka, Motorcycle Man (to be known as MM here on out) had pulled over to the side of the road.

"Hello, lost people!" MM said as we slowed the car and opened our windows to inquire where we might be.

I wonder how he knew we were lost? Guess it was kinda obvious. Ya think?

Anyway, we started chatting right then and there in the middle of the wilderness.  Told him we were both writers having a writing retreat in Gatlinburg and MM explained that he is a traveling actor.  Now what that is I don't know exactly but he is in a show in Gatlinburg at the Sweet Fanny Adams theater.

So we when to see him tonight and it was a blast.  A total, total blast--silly and sweet and goofy old-time musical comedy with not an ounce of pretense to it. 

Turns out MM has a name and it is Steve McRay.  He was thrilled and a little surprised to see us and when we left we agreed there was clearly a reason we all met.  So we shall see.

Meanwhile, if you are ever in Gatlinburg, head on over to the theater and check out the show.

It is Beautiful Here In The Great Smokies, And I Now Know What Ekphrasis Means

At least I think I know.  But you will have to wait a bit for erudite me to enlighten you on that, because first you must suffer through an update of my travels.

I'm in Gatlinburg, at a beautiful resort perched on the side of a mountain (well, they call them mountains in these parts, but, well, out west....oh, never mind).  The reason I am here is to write, and by that I mean write write, ie, work on my novel.  And I am going to do that, yesiree Bob.  Despite the fact I have two, count 'em, two copywriting assignments that came in at the last minute.

Ah well, I shall deal. 

And now, for the fried food Nashville report.  I have now completed the definitive tour of Meat 'N Threes in Nashville, having visited Carolyn's on Friday, which is fish day.  I can't link to Carolyn's because, trust me, it does not have a website.  It does not even have a sign. It is on the ground floor of the Sunday School Publishing Building, the one with the pretty blue squares on it. 

The ladies at Carolyn's boss you around a little, and you really want to listen to them and do EXACTLY what they say.  Otherwise, I don't know what might happen.  But, I will say, the Mac and Cheese (remember it counts as a vegetable in the south) is to die for.  My other favorite Meat 'N Three, Varallo's (or maybe it is Vallaro's, I always get it confused) is closed for remodeling so I couldn't go there.  I really don't think Carolyn's is going to be remodeled anytime soon.  Nosiree.

Oh, by the way, if you lock your keys in the car on James Robertson Parkway on the way to Carolyn's, and you call AAA to come rescue you, if you are really lucky, the AAA guy will not only help you out but he will do even more.  Like perhaps profess his love.  But only if you are really lucky and highly lovable.

Other highlights of my time in Nashville were visits to Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, a quick spin through Ernest Tubb's Record Shop, where Candace bought me a Nashville bumper sticker on condition I really, truly put it on my car, the traditional Sunday morning breakfast at Monell's, and visits with all my wonderful friends and their various assorted children and S.O.s.

And this fried food travelog took so long I don't even have time to write about what ekphrasis means, or how I learned it, or the actual writing event that was one of the reasons I went to Nashville in the first place.

So, more tomorrow.

By the way, corn pudding counts as vegetable, too.  So do mashed potatoes.  And red beans and rice.  And so do grits. And I am sorry, but you just CANNOT convince me to like grits, no matter how they are classified.

Hi ho, hi ho, its off to Nashville I go

I'm leaving on a jet plane tomorrow.  (I know, I know, I can't help it--I have all these old songs playing in my head.)

I'll be in Nashville for the Loft Literary Day, which is on Saturday.  I get to meet with students and sit and enjoy the lectures of other mentors.  Usually I am giving a lecture myself, and all nervous, so it will be a treat just to sit back and listen to others. 

I'm also meeting with private students and a client or two.  Oh, and all my wonderful friends in town.  I adore Nashville. 

On Monday, I'm heading over to Gatlinburg to have a writing retreat with my friend Linda Parker.  Since I finished the second draft of Emma Jean, I think I'm going to have a look at my first novel, Language of Trees. 

There may be a good reason for this.  But I'm not sayin' anything yet.

Anyway, don't miss me too much.  I'm not going to give you a chance to, because you know how I am--just can't stay away from the blog.

Now excuse me, while I go in search of some fried okra.  Or better yet, fried dill pickles.  They never met a vegetable they couldn't figure out how to fry in the south, God love 'em.

Photo of Gatlinburg used under GNU Free Documentation License 1.2.  Photo of Nashville by Bill Penn, used under Creative Commons License 2.5.

It is September 11, Do A Good Deed Today

Wait, what?  It is September 11, isn't it a day of gloom and doom?

Not anymore.  There's a movement afoot to make this day, the anniversary of one of the worst days in our nation's history, into something positive.

The idea is to focus on the humanitarian outpouring that followed the September 11th attacks, not the awful attacks themselves.  There is a grass-roots movement afoot to make September 11 Good Deeds Day.

You can go to the Good Deed Day page and make a pledge as to what your good deed for the day will be.  There you can also read what others have pledged to do.

If you'd like to learn more about the movement, including how its been endorsed by Congress, you can read the news article here.

So, here's my good deed for the day.  Actually, its not only for the day, but forever.  I'm no longer going to yell at other drivers.  I pledged to work on my propensity towards road rage after I heard the Dalai Lama speak a few years ago and I've not worked very hard at it.  So I'm going to start over and try again.  I just don't think the world needs any extra anger in it, especially over something so trivial as our driving habits.

If You Are A Writer.....

....you are never not thinking about your current project, at least somewhere in the dim recesses of your mind.

When working on a novel or screenplay or other long project, you are always, always, always, aware that any free time could best be spent by working on it.  You are constantly aware that everything in life is a trade-off.  Want to relax and watch a movie?  You're trading that time for a scene that could be written.  Want to go to Happy Hour with friends?  You could write a whole character description in that time.

Now, don't get me wrong--writers have to get out in the world and be a part of it, or they don't have anything to write about.  My point is that when you are deep into a project it is always hanging over your head.  It is like the old tomato juice commercial, in which the tag line is, "Gee, I should have had a V-8."

My refrain is, "Gee, I should have been writing."

I am keenly aware of this, because on this so-beautiful-it-hurts autumn morning, it is no longer a part of my psyche.  Quite by accident, I finished a draft of my novel yesterday.  And, now suddenly, I feel free.

As I'm planning my day, I'm realizing I may even have time to clean my office.  That's because I don't have to make the choice--work on my novel or clean the office?  When you're working on a novel, there's always that choice--get some exercise or work on the novel?  Read a book or work on the novel?

And only in its absence do I realize what a strong pull that is.  It is the strong pull of creativity.  Thank you God I have it, because at least for me, life without it is all dull tans and greys. 

I'm going to revel in the absence of that strong pull for a few days.  That is, until I start the next draft, which will be the final one, next week.  It is a very strange feeling not to have that strong pull towards working on the novel.  I know I'll start to miss it, because, in truth I can't imagine living life without some commitment to a larger whole.  I much prefer to live my life in riotous color.

What You Don't Know About Me

Nina, the wonderful author of Darwin's Paradox, and the blog The Alien Next Door, tagged me for a meme, on eight random facts about me.

You really sure you want to go there?

Well, alright.  If you insist.  Here goes:

1.  I am the proud mother of the largest pug in the world.  I'm not kidding.  He weighs 45 pounds.  Wait, I have to go cover his ears if you are even thinking the word obese.  He's very sensitive.  Because he knows that it's not fat, it's muscle.  He is also blind, but he prefers not to think about that, either.

2.  There are few foods I hate in the world more than beets.

3.  There are few foods I love in the world more than coconut.  Fortunately, coconut oil is full of healing properties.

4.  If I could be anything in the world other than a writer, I'd be a fashion designer.  Back in the dark ages, when my first child was but a wee little tidbit of a girl, I used to design and sell children's clothing.

5.  My great-great grandfather was killed by the Sheepeater Indians in the famous Rains Ranch Massacre, which is featured in Idaho history books.  Well, it is featured in one Idaho history book.  That makes it famous, don't you think? After his death, my great-great grandmother moved into the town of Grangeville and ran a whorehouse.

6.  Last time I counted how many cousins I have, I stopped when I got to 28.  I know a remarkable number of them fairly well.

7.  I'm a water sign.  You have to guess which one.

8.  I'm a huge fan of the Eagles.  I know, I probably shouldn't admit that, huh?  But come on, its that whole Desperado, Mystique of the Wild West thing.  You know you love them because of it, too.  And their first studio album in YEARS is coming out October 30th.

Part of this whole tagging thing is that I now get to tag other bloggers.  So, here we go:  Lisa, Becca, Susanne, Theresa, SpeedCatHollydale, and Adrienne--tag, you're now it!

Madeleine L'Engle Redux

Just found another L'Engle tribute from a fan like me.  This one is worth checking out because she has links to the New York Times obit, which I couldn't find yesterday, and a couple other stories.  Check it out here.

Madeleine L'Engle: A Personal Heroine Passes

One of my favorite authors of all time died today.

Madeleine L'Engle died in a nursing home in Connecticut at age 88.  She was best known, of course, for her book A Wrinkle in Time, which my sister and I read and re-read and read again as we were growing up. I read it to both of my children as they grew up, and I've re-read it on my own as an adult several times.

It is simply of the best books ever, all about the power of love.  Besides the main characters of Meg and her supposedly "slow" brother Charles Wallace, it features such wonderful characters as Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which, and the Happy Medium. 

I love the opening scene, in which a stormy night has awakened Meg and her brother and her mother and they are having hot chocolate in the kitchen of their big, book-filled home, when the door flies open and in bursts one of the Mrs. Ws (my brain refuses to remind me which one.)

"Wild nights are my glory!" she exclaims.

I just love that.  Every time we have a storm I think of that line. 

And of course, the neighborhood on the planet of Camazotz where the children all open the door at precisely the same time, and then bounce a rubber ball in rhythm, is a standard short-cut description for certain places of extreme conformity.  "Just like Camazotz," we'll say. 

I've also read her Austin family books, most of them when I was an adult.  And her Crosswicks Journal trilogy. 

I had the honor of meeting L'Engle when she gave a lecture here in town several years ago.  She was dramatic, and funny, and beautiful, and informative.  When the lecture was over, my sister, who came with me, turned to me, sighed, and said, "I wish I was a writer."

I met her in person at the reception afterwards and she graciously told me that Charlotte was one of her favorite names, and the name of one of her grand children.  She was as wonderful in person as you would imagine she was from reading her books.

If you haven't read them, go now and do so.    Pay no attention to the fact that many of them are supposedly Young Adult or children's books.  You'll love them anyway.  Start with A Wrinkle in Time.

I envy you, getting to read it for the first time.

You can read the Yahoo obituary here.

Be Kind to Editors and Writers Month

I love when this happens.  Here I've been up to my elbows in an assignment all day--all flippin' day--worrying about neglecting semi-important things like grocery shopping, and really important things like my blog, when in pops this press release into my inbox.  (Are there enough "ins" in that sentence for you?)

And now my worries about what to blog are over. 

To wit:

September is Be Kind To Editors and Writers month.  I am both an editor and a writer, so do you think this means I get a double dose of kindness?  Think my family will buy it?  Nah.  But they did go grocery shopping for me.  I suspect mostly because there was beer involved (not for me, for them).

Anyway, I digress.  I learned all this from the press release sent on behalf of Malibu literary agent Wendy Keller.  Now I don't know Wendy, but I do know Malibu, and even though it is full of disgustingly pretty and thin people I still like it.  My friend Brian, the screenwriter, lives there, and I like him, too.  Most of the time.  Just kidding, Brian.

But I digress.  Back to Wendy.  She offers non-fiction writers tips on selling their book proposals.  She's got a free ezine and does free teleseminars.

As we say here in Portland, free is a very good price.  Especially for someone who want to be kind to editors and writers.  So go check it out--and thank Wendy for giving me something to blog about.

Critiquing, Part Four: Giving as Good as You Get

Let me tell you right up front, I had no intention of making this series on critiquing into a series.  But I kept talking to people about it, and getting great comments, and so here were are, suddenly on part four.  Quel surprise!

Crystal left a comment to Part Three about how much she hated giving critiques.  Here I've been such a navel gazer, so focused on me, me, me and how it feels to get a critique that I completely neglected to mention the other side of the picture. 

So here are some guidelines for giving critiques without making the recipient cry or turning them into an angry, raving lunatic (though, trust me, if the critiquee is thin skinned, it is not always possible.)

• Always start a critique by finding something good about the piece.  Trust me, even the work of the rankest beginner has something to be commended--if nothing else than that the writer showed up to do the work!
• Couch your criticism in terms of craft.  By this I mean, refer to standards of dialogue and plot and so forth.   You are bolstering your opinion by referring to the "experts" (such as they are).  You can even drop names here, such as Anne Lamott says...or John Gardner recommends....If you need some specific guidelines for this, check out my post on what questions we used for the Mayborn manuscripts here.
• It really is best if the critiquee is required to stay silent throughout the critique.  This cuts down on defending, rationalizing, and the occasional irate outburst.
• Don't just say what you liked or disliked about the piece say why it worked or didn't work.  For instance, you may point to a line of dialogue that didn't work for you, but why?  Was it too informational?   Does it sound too slangy?  Is it unnatural?  Going a step farther and naming the why also helps take the criticism away from the personal, ie, "I don't really know why I didn't like this, I just know I didn't."  That just sounds snippy.
• Don't give a general review, focus on specifics.  The more specific you can be, the more helpful.
• Judge the work on its own terms.  My first writing teacher, Craig Lesley, taught me this years ago.  If it is a mystery, don't try to turn it into a work of literature, just because you hate mysteries.  If it is a how-to, don't make it into literary non-fiction.  And so forth.  Meet the work where it is.
• Meet the writer where he or she is, also.  A new writer is going to need a very different critique than one who has been around the publishing block a few times.   With a beginning writer, you will need to start with the most obvious problems and praise even the smallest of successes lavishly.  And then you proceed to the next level....
• Above all else, don't make it personal!  It is vital to adhere to this rule.  Separate the work from the person, and your personal feelings, good or bad for them.  The work is its own entity and deserves being considered as such.

That's it, at least for now!  Though lord only knows I'll probably think up something else to do with critiquing.  You can read the first post here, the second here, and the third here.

Things to Write on Labor Day

Some of you out there might have actual plans to write this weekend, unlike moi.  Despite having a long list of writerly things to do, I have so instead, so far this weekend:  been to Friday Happy Hour, spent three flippin' hours at the new Ikea, watched two episodes of Big Love on demand, cleaned the house (though not my office, which is in dire need), and have been having a blast figuring out my new editing job, which almost, but not quite counts as writing.  And, lest you think I am going to buckle down and write today, nothing could be further than the truth.  I am on my way to go hiking in the Columbia Gorge in just a few minutes.  But, even though I can't write today, I thought I'd leave you with a list of things to write. 

I mean, if you can't write, the second best thing is to tell others what to write, right?  No worries, I'll be back at it with a vengeance tomorrow. 

So, here you go:

• Write a poem about the weather, good, bad or ugly.  Or write a poem about your weekend.  Or just write a poem about anything.  The world needs more poets.
• Write your autobiography, or at least start it.   Rumor has it that you can dredge up all kinds of great material for stories this way.
• In honor of the school year starting, draw up a plan for what you want to write over the next four months.  What do you want to have accomplished by December, writing-wise?  (Okay, this isn't exactly writing, but cut me some slack here.)
• Write a character sketch based on a person you saw in your rounds this weekend.  If you didn't see anyone of note, take yourself to the coffee shop and observe until you do.  Then make notes and create a character.
• Write down 25 ideas for your writing.  In a perfect world, if you had all the time you needed to write, what would you like to write about?  Write those down.  Then choose one and start writing.

And now, away, away, I must away...until tomorrow.

Being Critiqued, Part Three

I already wrote about being critiqued not once, but twice, (you can read the first two posts here and here.)  But I had another thought about the whole process.  Dying to hear it, aren't you?  Just what you've been desperate to read on this last official Saturday of summer?  Here goes:

It's all about the work. 

That's all you have to remember.  It's about the work, not you.

When my children were little, there were occasional dreadful events that were command performances for parents: pre-school picnics with a bunch of snotty people you didn't know; birthday parties, field trips where you got paired with other parents to chaperon.  (I may be exaggerating the dreadfulness of it all the wee-est bit, but still.  You get the gist.)

The way I would endure these events was to remind myself, its not about me, I'm doing this for Annie.  Or Lewis.  And once I took the focus off worrying about myself and how I would be getting along and onto my children, my whole attitude changed and usually I ended up enjoying myself (well, maybe not at the birthday parties).

The same thing works for critiquing.  Just remember it's not about you, it is about the work.  It is about making your work as strong and readable as possible.  I believe that most good pieces of writing come through us as much as they come from us, and believing that makes it a bit easier to disassociate yourself from the critiquing process.

The ideal would be for you to be able to be completely neutral about the writing as it is critiquing.  I am now wiping tears of mirth from my eyes, after laughing for five minutes at the mere thought of that being possible. 

But barring that, try to separate yourself from the work as much as possible.   This pains me to admit, but when my defenses are up during a critique, I start making judgments about the critiquer.  If they are talking about making my dialogue more realistic, I'll be thinking, as if you use the Queen's English yourself, sissy.

Or if someone is commenting on a character's actions, I'll think darkly, after three divorces and two failed engagements, you think you know about relationships?

You get the drift.

This is the wrong way to handle criticism.  This is taking the critique personally, because in judging others, you are only judging yourself. 

I'm not saying that anyone else ever does this, but just in case you do, stop right now.  Take the focus off yourself and put it back onto the work.  How can you make the writing as readable and clear and lively for the reader as possible? 

This is the only thing you should be focused upon.

And once you've mastered this, let me know.  We'll see if we can bottle it and make a quick million, okay?