Feedback can hurt. Sometimes it will hurt. But you need feedback—especially early on—if you want to grow as a writer.
When I was in college, I took workshop classes where we brought in stories and critiqued each other’s work. I remember one specific workshop where several of us gave the same piece of feedback on a piece: we didn’t think the main character’s name fit the character.
That was it. That was the feedback.
But the author got really upset, because she had used her daughter’s name.
So she took that critique as us saying we didn’t like her daughter’s name, or that we were insulting her choice to pick that name. She took it very personally.
And that wasn’t true at all.
The name itself was fine—we just didn’t think it matched the character on the page.
That experience stuck with me, because it’s a perfect example of what feedback actually is:
Feedback is about the story. Not you.
And if you take it personally every time someone critiques your work, you are going to be an emotional wreck. You will also have a harder time learning from that feedback and improving your writing.
Here’s the reality of publishing: Your book is not going to be for everyone.
That’s just how it is. You’re not going to like every book you read, and neither is any other reader out there.
For example, last year, I got a negative review on Christmas Day that basically said my book was unoriginal and not very good.
The very next day, I got a five-star review on the same book saying they couldn’t put it down.
I’ve had three-star reviews that say, “It was fine, but not good enough to continue the series,” and other reviews where readers immediately bought book two.
Same book. Completely different reactions.
Because every reader is going to have a different reading experience. It depends on their mood. What else they’ve read recently. Whether they’re burned out on certain tropes. What’s going on in their personal life.
I’ve DNF’d several romantasies not because they were bad, but because I’ve read so many romantasies that have the same story beats, the same types of characters, the same plot devices, and they’re boring. Had I read them first, I would’ve liked them.
So when someone doesn’t like your book, it doesn’t automatically mean your book is bad.
It just means it wasn’t for them.
Which leads to something that is very important to understand early:
Reviews are for readers. Not for authors.
I’m going to say that again: Reviews are for readers. Not for authors.
The purpose of reviews is to help other readers decide if they want to read the book, not to give praise to the author.
They are not a direct message to you as the author.
So stay out of your reviews.
Don’t go digging through them. Don’t engage with them. If someone tags you in a negative review, untag yourself and move on.
And definitely do not go on social media and complain about reviews.
Because that will backfire.
People will find the review. They will amplify it. And the kind of people who thrive on that kind of conflict are not people you can reason with.
Use the block button. Protect your space.
Now, all of that said—not all feedback is equal.
Everyone has opinions. Everyone has “advice.” But not everyone is qualified to give useful, constructive feedback.
Just because someone reads a lot in your genre doesn’t necessarily mean they can tell you why something isn’t working, or how to fix it. I can read something and get a sense if something isn’t working, but I have a hard time putting my finger on what isn’t working. I’m an author, not an editor. That’s just how my skills unfurled.
Good feedback comes from people who understand story structure, character development, pacing—people who can point to something specific and explain what’s happening on a craft level.
“Something feels off” is useless.
“I don’t like this character” is useless.
“The plot doesn’t make sense” is useless.
“This scene lacks tension because the protagonist isn’t making an active choice” is useful feedback.
And part of your job as a writer is learning how to tell the difference.
You also need to learn when to ignore advice.
Because some advice just isn’t for you.
Or it’s not for you right now.
Or it’s based on personal preference, not actual craft.
That comes from Brandon Sanderson’s 2025 lecture series. I highly recommend it. It’s free to watch on YouTube.
If you write in first person and someone tells you to rewrite the whole book in third person—that’s not necessarily good advice. That might just be how they prefer to read.
If you hear someone complain that they only read in first person, that doesn’t mean you have to cater to their tastes. Don’t alter your writing for rando opinions and hot takes on social media.
You’ll hear things like “write every day,” which sounds great in theory—but for a lot of people with full-time jobs, families, and responsibilities, that’s not realistic.
I can’t write every day. I have carved out time on Saturday morning to write. That’s become my routine. When you write and where you write doesn’t matter, as long as you show up. Finding the routine that works matters.
Consistency matters more than frequency.
And then there’s advice like “avoid adverbs.”
Which—no.
That’s an oversimplification.
What that actually means is: use stronger verbs when you can.
Instead of saying “walked briskly,” you might say “hurried” or “hustled.”
It’s about precision—not elimination.
It’s up to you to know if a piece of feedback is worth your time. Knowing when to take advice to heart and when to ignore advice is something else you’ll have to learn along the way. When I was starting out, I took everything to heart. Because I assumed that if someone was confident about what they said in online writer communities, they were more experienced than me.
That’s not that case.
I have seen some very confident opinions about very stupid and wrong things.
At the end of the day, learning how to handle feedback is part of becoming a better writer.
You have to separate yourself from the work. Pull your ego out of the equation and see the book as what it is: a book, a product, that you want other people to give you money in exchange for. You need to be able to hear what’s being said in the feedback but stay grounded enough to know what serves your story and what doesn’t.
Take what’s useful. Leave what isn’t.
And keep writing.
Beatrice B. Morgan 