Today was the first time a story of mine got critiqued by the workshop I joined in Eugene. Ouch. I forgot how painful it was to have people talk bad about your baby.

On the other hand, I remember being reduced to tears when I read critiques of my writing in the online workshop, critters, that I used to take part in when I first started trying to publish nigh on ten years ago.

I was thinking (as I tend to do on the two hour commute to and from the workshop) about stuff and thought maybe this lack of tears was a shift in how I place value on myself.

Before M and M, all I really had to feel valuable about myself was my work and my writing. Now, I have that whole mother thing going for me. I think that I can take criticism better now because a majority of my self worth is wrapped up in being a mother rather than being a writer.

Or, I can say to myself ‘that story sucked because I am too busy trying to teach M to read and changing diapers’. It provides a nice excuse, if nothing else.

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