Alice Bradley on the Stupidity of Writing (and/or Living) for People who Dislike You

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: I'm delighted to introduce today's guest, Alice Bradley. She's a writer (Let's Panic About Babies), award-winning blogger (Finslippy), podcast host (League of Awkward Unicorns), and all-around badass, who's also working on her first novel. 

Recently, Alice wrote a post that resonated with me in a big way, titled "The Stupidity of Writing (and/or Living) for People Who Dislike You." ("It's as if you hear all the voices in my head!" wrote one of her fans — and I feel the same.) 

All of us who put ourselves out there (whether as a novelist, a blogger, or — hey — a human being) can one minute be having fun with our passion, love, and creativity, and then the next hear the negative voices (and there are always negative voices and punishing people — that's one thing to count on in this life, it seems) who seemingly want us to stop, to quit, to play possum, or worse. 

But we can't quit, not if we want to be true to ourselves, make the art we want — and lead the life we want. 

And so, what to do? 

Thank goodness, Alice has some advice. Welcome!

ALICE BRADLEY: Thank you, Susan and Reds. 

Halfway through my senior year of high school, a group of my friends decided they didn’t like me anymore. It felt at the time like the entire class had turned against me, but it was probably about five people. Nonetheless, they were five people I spent a lot of my time with, and they were fairly well-liked, so other people who had once thought I was cool now found me loathsome. I devolved from “somewhat cool to hang out near” to “What? No.” It was…difficult.

It was never clear to me what started it; over a period of weeks 

and months I was just frozen out. People who had once laughed 

at my jokes were now rolling their eyes. Then walking away. And 

when I asked them what I had done, they said, God, you don't 

understand anything. I’d call and their moms would say they were 

busy and their moms would sound embarrassed. Like that. If I had 

to dig through my memory I’m positive I'd find I wasn’t blameless, 

but luckily no one’s making me dig through my memory. (It’s messy 

in there.) 

So that’s hard to remember, but what’s even worse were my attempts 

to change their minds. Because I did not say, “Well, screw you” 
and concentrate on the few good friends who stuck by me. Oh no 
I did not. 

Instead I engaged in desperate and frantic bids to get their friendships 

back. Showing up at get-togethers that I wasn’t specifically not invited

to. Breakin’ the rules and gettin’ suspended to show that I was a real 

bad-ass. (And apparently dropping my g’s.) Worst of all, I made up 

gossip, literally made up dirt on people, to show that I was somehow 

in the know and worth hanging out with. You can imagine how well 

that turned out. 

In my spare time I was learning what "panic attacks" were and 

breaking out into epic rashes (the family dermatologist was fascinated 

by me that year), and when I was at school I playacted at being an 

asshole. Somehow I thought that if they didn’t like me, maybe they’d 

like this frantic, aggressive version of me. 

This strategy, not surprisingly, backfired, in that not only did they 

dislike me even more, the few people who were still brave enough to 

be my friends were beginning to see their point. Is it a coincidence 

that the one friend who was kind enough to sit me down and tell me 

what a dick I was being, and then forgive me when I acknowledged 

said dickness, is now a priest? It is not. She is a goddamn saint. 

The whole situation was pretty excruciating, and the only thing that 

saved me was graduation. 

This particular story was a dramatic example but not an exception to 

how I like to focus on someone who doesn’t like me and try and make 

them like me. I’ve homed in on the one person in my life who doesn’t 

think I’m all that charming and used all my charm to change their 

minds. And do you know what? This has always failed! Sometimes spectacularly! 

If someone doesn’t like you, it’s probably got more to do with them 

than you, but either way, I've learned, there’s not too much you can 

do about it. Unless you’ve actively been a terrible person, in which 

case you should quit doing that, for everyone’s sake. 

I’ve been thinking of this period in my life recently, because I found 

myself recently trying to understand why I’ve struggled with blogging 

over the past few years. Since I started it in 2004, Finslippy has been 

one of the most joyful experiences of my life. I gave it my random 

thoughts and it gave me friends, positive feedback, a book deal, 

television appearances, a stream of writing gigs, crazy speaking 

engagements and video projects, and more than one job. I owe my blog so much.

It also provided me with the weird sensation of reading about how 

much some people weren’t into me. Of course, right? Once your 

audience extends beyond your friends and family, it’s inevitable that someone’s not going to think you’re particularly interesting. I always 

knew that. I just didn’t know people would find me so not-that-great 

that they’d be compelled to write about it. And that so many people 

would agree with them. 

I am not a special case. This is in no way unusual. It happens to 

everyone who's put anything out there in the world. It’s the byproduct 

of creative output. If anything, I’ve gotten off easy. I’ve gotten off 

easy, though, because I’ve pulled back. And I’ve pulled back because 

the negative feedback was too painful. 

And it’s not like I was being attacked on the regular, by any means. 

All I got were a few comments on a forum here and there. A 

discussion thread or two about how non-exemplary I was. A couple 

of Google alerts let me know that I wasn’t nearly as great as I 

(apparently) believed. A couple of emails informing me that I’m 

a garbage dump of a person. That kind of stuff. 

In realizing that I wasn't alone with this phenomenon, I also read 

scathing attacks on my blogging peers and my friends. I sort of...

obsessed over these attacks. I saw people I understand on a cellular 

level being ridiculed and dismissed. No one was making me read 

those sites. But somewhere in the weird little frightened squirrel 

part of my brain, I was taking notes, trying to figure out what these 

people who hated everything would like, how I could be that cool girl 

who’d get a pass. 

It didn’t take long for me to really get these people's voices in my 

head. I became increasingly careful with what I wrote. I edited and 

re-edited. I second-guessed and didn't hit publish. I became 

increasingly self-conscious and reactive and every post just felt 

harder and harder. And then I gave up. It wasn’t fun anymore. 

But who made it un-fun? I did. I denied myself the joy of writing shit 

that I wanted to write. How stupid is that? Who was this benefiting? 

A few people who probably weren’t paying any attention? Would 

these people spontaneously contact me and say, “You know, I used to 

think you were boring and unfunny, but now that you’re not writing at 

all, you’ve really grabbed my attention. Want to get drinks?” And then

we’d get drinks and we’d be best friends and everyone would like me 

again and I’d be voted Most Misunderstood But Secretly Great? 

This is silly. It’s so silly. There’s always going to be someone who 

doesn’t think you’re great. Don’t read it. Don’t read negative shit in 

general, actually: it’s poison. 

And if someone doesn’t like you enough to fire off an angry missive 

about how you're the worst, just rest easy in the knowledge that that 

person is a miserable chafe of a human being who doesn’t deserve 

your time and energy.

Then reply, “For the last time, I’m not going to have sex with you.” 

This always freaks them out. Because secretly they wanted to have 

sex with you. They all do. Because you’re super hot.

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Thank you, Alice! And you are super 

hot, darling. 




Reds and lovely readers, have you ever gone out on a limb with 
something (artistically, personally) only to get a lot of negativity? 
(Not constructive critisism, of course, but that really personal, 

vindictive stuff?) Did it ever stop you for a while? Did it stop 

you completely? How did/do you deal with it? And how did you, 

or will you, triumph?




Please tell us — and Alice— in the comments!

ABOUT ALICE BRADLEY: I'm a writer, and I live in Brooklyn, 

New York, with my husband Scott, my son Henry, my dog 

Hazel, and Izzy the cat.

I write both fiction and nonfiction. I've written for all kinds of 
publications and websites. So many. At some point I'll provide 

a list, I promise. 

I've been writing Finslippy since 2004. I've been called a 

parenting blogger, but these days I write quite a bit more about 
creativity, art, depression, city life, our surly cat and peeing 
Chihuahua, my extended family, and sometimes, okay, parenting.

I've got a podcast with Deanna Zandt called The League of 
Awkward Unicorns, It's about mental illness (depression, anxiety, etc. etc.) 

and emotional wellness (things that help, whether it's 

medication, exercise, or wrapping oneself up in a Snuggie 

while binge-watching The Mindy Project). Find us on iTunes 

here. 

In March 2011 I co-authored a book called LET'S PANIC 

ABOUT BABIES! with the beloved Eden Marriott Kennedy. It 

was published in St. Martin's Press, and we're quite proud of it. 

You can read all about the book (and enjoy our book trailer, 

excerpts, and reviews) over here.

I love emails from readers, although I can't always reply to them as 
quickly as I'd like. My favorite comments from readers include 

the following:

"You write as if you're listening to the voices in my head."

And:

"I usually find things amusing online, but don't always laugh, 

like with my voice. 

Today I did."

If you have anything to say, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks.

Can You Take The Heat?

"They afterwards took me to a dancing saloon where I saw the only rational method of art criticism I have ever come across. Over the piano was printed a notice- 'Please do not shoot the pianist. He is doing his best.'”
**Oscar Wilde

HANK: Yes, it's hot. Outside. Amazingly so. But the heat I'm getting at is when it's hot off the presses. When you finish--or at least, kind of finish--a 'more than a first draft.' And then the first real person reads it. And then someone--a critique partner, or pal, or independent editor, decides to tell you what's wrong with it. (Or, what's right! :-) )

How do you handle cricitism? And do you think we learn that from childhood?

I had a pal once, years ago, who thought she was just wonderful She was so confident! Whatever she did, she felt, was just the BEST.(emphasis hers :-)) But in reality, she was just--mediocre. I mean, fine, but no great shakes. Still, you couldn't tell HER that! She'd never believe it. If anyone criticized her, or suggested she do something differently, she'd just smile and say, how interesting! and go on her merry way.

I had to wonder about this shining shield she seem to have. So I asked her, once, how her parents treated her as a kid.

Did they praise you every day? I asked.

Oh, yes, she said. They always told me I was wonderful.

Mine didn't. Really, rarely. If ever. There was ALWAYS ALWAYS something I could have done better. And I think that's had a huge effect on me.

ANd now, I'm used to hearing "criticism" every day as news director types look at my scripts. Over the years, I've learned that smart, savvy, intelligent "criticism" is the best thing that can happen.

ROBERTA: How interesting Hank:)--no I mean it. I think my urge to improve my writing is stronger than my dislike of criticism--and I hope it stays that way for a long time. I'm not saying I LIKE all the feedback, but I've gotten much better at two things. First, not arguing immediately:). Think it over, figure out what may be true and even if it isn't, what is the reader stumbling over? Second, choosing who I ask to read my stuff. I want readers who are truly honest, but in a kind way. No matter how many books we have published, our little writer egos are so fragile...

As to the childhood question, my parents were not the shining shield kind. They thought we kids were terrific bottom line, but by no means perfect, so I guess that fits pretty well with how I turned out. I think kids might need unconditional love, but not unconditional praise. Encouragement for trying, but help them evaluate realistically how their efforts worked out.

ROSEMARY: Doesn't everyone's mother think they're wonderful? Mine certainly did. I don't know that she armed me with a shining shield, but she did make me think I could do anything - and I still think I can do most things if I work hard (although pitching for the Yankees and dancing with Baryshnikov have recently fallen off the list.)

Sticking to writing..I have no critique partners and no early readers. Sometimes I wish I did, but I can't see myself critiquing someone else's writing so that probably wouldn't work. It's all so subjective. For good or ill I haven't gotten much pre-publication feedback on my first three books. I just go into my little girl-cave and write. Then I send it off.

My last editor made very few suggestions, but she was right about almost all of them. I have a brand spanking new editor for my next book and we'll see what kind of comments I get on this manuscript.

JAN: I think the more professional you become at something, the more you want constructive criticism, and the better you get at balancing criticism with your own mission statement. We had a woman in our writers group a long time ago who wouldn't just accept criticism, she'd gallop off with it. Constantly changing direction, depending on whoever gave her the criticism. That's just as bad as not listening to any of it.

My mother was pretty much equal parts child adoration and criticism, and I'm talking high levels of both. But I actually don't think that has anything to do with how I handle criticism. I think accepting criticism is basically about having confidence, some of which is learned a long the way and much of which is inborn.. It's a nature vs nuture thing. And until I had two children myself, I thought confidence had to do with nurture. Now, seeing one child born confident and the other born sensitive, I'm firmly in the nature camp. The package is there at birth.

HALLIE: What an interesting discussion. My parents thought we all walked on water but they also had a way of rubbing our noses in our OTHER sisters’ accomplishments. Which is one reason why I went off and did my own thing for a long time before trying to do theirs.

I can’t write without readers. I need other people’s perspectives to save me from myself.

Hey, Ro, I also have a new editor. She's wonderful. I just finished going through her comments and revising the manuscript (“Come and Find Me” 4/11 Wm. Morrow).

She suggested edits in almost every paragraph, and gave me 15 pages (!) of substantive comments, numbered 1 to 287.
Sample: "Let’s see a beat here where Diana realizes she should back off."
Sample: "I’d make this more personal; does she have a flash of regret?"
Sample: "Let's make this active."

HANK: Oh, Hallie, that sounds wonderful!

HALLIE: I've never had an editor give me this level of critique, but I'm thrilled. I don’t make every change, but virtually everything gets dealt with, one way or another. And it’s so great to have someone else really engaged in the manuscript. Going through her comments MAKES me really look at the manuscript, line by line, scene by scene, plot point by plot point--which is very hard at this point in the writing process when I can practically recite it word for word.

RHYS: I can't say I love criticism, but I do appreciate good editing. I think that a manuscript needs to be examined by fresh eyes, because often we're blind to our own shortcomings--do I use this word too often? Have I used this device before?Do I make this character sound petty or shallow? My books are read by three people before they go to the publisher and they all contribute something to the fine tuning.

My editors also make good suggestions, but the important thing for me is that they are enthusiastic about my work. Actually I'm still insecure about my writing. You'd think after so many books that I'd have gotten the hang of it by now, but I still don't really believe it's okay until someone else tells me. I keep expecting someone to say, "well the other books might have been fine, but this one falls short." So I hold my breath until the editor tells me she loves it.

HANK: Me, too. Rhys. I just asked someone to read something, and as I told Jonathan: She could tell me it's the bst thing she ever read. Or she could tell me it stinks. And I will believe either one.

So--can you take it? And how do you handle it?

And be sure to come back all this week for more--tomorrow, advice from a pros. Wednesday, an author with a cheesy debut. Thursday, how to get your ms. critiqued! And Friday--of course, something completely different.