How to Grow From Negative Feedback for Creators

It feels great to create something. You made something that you wanted, it has entered the world and taken form. You like it so much you think others should see it too. When you start putting yourself out there, you are open and vulnerable. Getting poor feedback feels bad but it’s inevitable.

Why do people on the web feel the need to be negative? There are many great and supportive online communities out there, but it can feel like the vast majority are just filled with haters. You post your hard work to a page only to have it voted down instantly by some bot and your creation never sees the light of day.

I think by understanding the motivations behind negative feedback creators can take this to learn and improve.

Don’t take it personal!

The first takeaway from internet negativity is to not take it too personally. People being rude really shouldn’t reflect on you, it is a reflection of their bad behavior and self hatred. Although we don’t deserve cruel comments just for trying to share our work, it is unfortunately a reality. More often than not, mean feedback is coming from a place of frustration. These people have been hurt and they now want to force that hurt onto others. Don’t let them win! Chase your dreams!

Bad feedback isn’t the worst thing – No feedback is the worst thing!

One of the healthiest ways to view negative feedback is to change your worst case scenario. This is basically looking at your worst fear in putting yourself out there. For most of us, our worst fear is negative feedback. It’s scary to have someone say your work sucks or it’s trash etc. and it hurts. However this is not really the worst fate for your work!

The worst thing that can happen for a creation is for no one to see it. For it to just enter the void. The world doesn’t owe you anything just because you made something, and even though you may have got a negative response they still took the time to tell you. Count that as a win! As an artist your goal is to elicit a response. Social media grows through engagement, whether positive or negative.

Everyone is a critic!

People love to criticize things. Odds are, people will find fault with your work rather than like it. It’s easy to criticize something and it makes you feel superior. It’s a cheap thrill. Again, don’t take it personal. It’s so hard to make something great so keep at it!

Keep it in perspective!

Don’t let the one bad feedback ruin the rest. We can get so stuck on the bad it’s important to remember a lot of people probably did like it. Count every win and count your losses as wins too. You tried and you put it out there. It’s hard to create! Don’t give it up!

Peace and Love!

 

How to Grow From Negative Feedback for Creators

Poem by Lyonrah

I’m a simple man
scared terribly 
by the ascendance I feel
through & all about me.
In the echoing crescendo 
herald by the buds
of the stretching spring tree,
in the reply from the
scuttling squirrel 
gathering acorns, pausing,
looking through me,
in the eyes of another 
who holds mine in momentary matrimony,
rather then the usual,
a demonstration a performance,
an assertion of ones own dominance. 
Sometimes it becomes so shockingly clear
that it can’t but cause
a stirring disturbance in me.
A need for coming back,
a need for returning from that place 
whispered of in our dreams. 
I huddle inside my shelter,
a gift so long condemned
as the original sin,
and do as instructed
by the ego within.

Poem by Lyonrah

I Woke Up Stained

I woke up stained.

I don’t know when it happened

Maybe it was the recent news

Maybe the cold callous city streets

Maybe the steel structure that divides us

Like that steel I am tarnished

My shine is gone unpolished

 

I woke up tarnished.

I had a silver shine faded away

Maybe my heart glimmers with dreams of renewal

Maybe there is golden age of true justice and sacred peace

Maybe people are starting to change

Like those people I have changed

My heart is gone stained

I Woke Up Stained

Poems by Lyonrah

Today’s study, a study of the invisible. 
Oh children of the universe
Listening intently
Gaze focused out into space
Solemn no longer;
We replace the age old
With today.
Oh you angel
Living in harmony with your being,
No longer will I try to place at your feet that which will never reach, but now is the time, too unshackle ourselves and aspire to the heights offered by the gift of being man and woman. 
To actualize that which our eyes and mind have know for so long inside, hark the call my siblings, hark and sing, even if it is hard to believe, for me it is the same, but relish in the name of names which stands a loft for our purpose to shape this into that, the visible a resource to achieve the greatest height, a monument to the invisible which comes down into our world through the bridges we so construct. So build and build, till in one stroke we bridge the gap and in ecstasy stand before the awesomeness possible from a life thus thrust into the torrent that is living amongst shackled minds.

Poems by Lyonrah

An Infinite Regression of Past Lives

By Peter

A skunk walks across the beach
in a red and white striped one piece,
a surfboard under his arm.
He stops every woman
to ask for the time of day.
None give it to him
as bikini clad women
tend not to wear watches.
They are, for the most part, cordial
in their refusals,
but the waves laugh at his rejections.
The skunk, visibly frustrated by the guffaws,
refrains from spraying the water
out of respect for the other beachgoers.
The skunk is not a skunk at all,
He is a businessman carrying a briefcase.
The sand is Grand Central Station.
He constantly checks his watch,
then squints at the schedule,
then back to his watch.
He is the type of person who shows up
hours early in case of this very predicament
and would likely catch his train with time to spare.
He asks anyone and everyone
for directions to the proper platform,
pointing to his ticket for reference.
No one acknowledges his presence.
He is not a businessman at all.
He is me. I am no businessman.
I am in a motel room
washing my face
I don’t know what city I’m in,
some town bordering Detroit.
I stare into the mirror in the mirror,
see how many of me there are.
It’s three a.m. and I have a strange feeling
I’m going to a funeral tomorrow.
Why else would I pack a suit?

An Infinite Regression of Past Lives