My critics are always right.

I sift the gold from a couple of nice reviews and some real stinkers.

I’m a genius. Don’t you know that? Can’t you tell just from reading one of my sentences?

Part of me yearns for unqualified admiration from reviews.

Ideally from a qualified source. Failing that, I’ll happily retweet the qualified admiration of an unqualified person.

An adjacent, equally unformed part of me fears exposure by expert. Someone who knows better than me what I’m trying to do, and how short I fall of the mark. I live in dread of the devastating critique that exposes my lack of talent and application, and the failure of my artistic sensibility.

Simultaneously, I’m delighted that anyone pays any attention at all to anything I do. Including you, dear reader! I’m flattered that of all the things you could be doing right now, you’re reading this. I promise that I’ll always try to make it worth both our whiles.

If you have/do 😍.

I take it for granted that any reviews or feedback I get are from fellow human beings who, like me, are doing the best …