“You need to develop a thick skin”

As I try to get my book A Weapon Undone (previously titled Incursion) published, I’ve sought out advice from people in publishing, whether on podcasts, in blog posts, at conferences such as New York Write to Pitch, or in the form of paid advice from reputable places like The Manuscript Academy or my development editor (and huge help) A.P. Canavan.

One thing I’ve encountered a lot is the advice that one needs to “develop a thick skin”—meaning to become inured to setbacks or criticism. I saw it recently on a writing group Discord server I’m a member of, but I’ve seen it everywhere; it appears to be a reflexive refrain. It’s generally-accepted wisdom, but it doesn’t really hold up to scrutiny.

For one, it’s not actionable. There is no next step; it is a target rather than a plan. It is not the same as “steel yourself to disappointment;” it is instead “you need to be good at steeling yourself to disappointment.”

But in my mind, the biggest problems with this advice are that it both compounds the effects of failure, and suggests that emotions are to be suppressed in some way.

Why this is bad advice

This advice is given in the context of a writer feeling bad about something (it would be quite surprising to hear if asking about proper manuscript formatting), mostly regarding rejection. And it’s true that pursuing a writing career is probably going to involve a lot of disappointment. But to respond to a writer feeling bad about failure by saying they need a “thick skin,” is also to say “If you feel bad about failure, guess what? You’re failing in this way, too.” Furthermore, by not being actionable, there is nowhere for the writer to go.

When given as general advice, it is to say “you’re doing it wrong by having feelings;” i.e. it serves as a dismissal of someone else’s problems.

I’ve been at this for quite a while, so I’ve seen this advice pop up so often (and also in different fields) that it doesn’t make me feel bad. But a recognition that there will likely be disappointment does not solve the problem of that disappointment, and to tell people “how it is” does nothing to help them do anything about “how it is.”

It is also a “hard truth,” and “hard truths” always make me suspicious. In other areas of life, particularly politics, I’ve discovered there is a certain type of person who loves “hard truths,” because they can be lorded over others; this person’s acceptance of this “hard truth” a sign of their moral superiority. It is incidental whether or not this “truth” is actually true. They have a toxic appeal that one needs to be vigilant of, as we are all susceptible to it.

A contrast

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve received was about reacting to critique of your work. It’s very easy to be criticised and feel bad. I once spent a day or two feeling terrible about detailed feedback that was mostly positive, because I focused on where problems were (correctly) identified and beat myself up over it.

The advice was that one should allow oneself to feel one’s feelings and then, when the storm has passed, to reengage the rational part of one’s brain and analyse the critique. If you’re feeling shit about something, you’re less likely to look at it rationally, and engaging with the critique at this point might only serve to make you feel worse. But by recognising that your feelings are valid, allowing yourself to have them and then, when they have abated, to get back to work, you’re more likely to make better decisions sooner.

These two pieces of advice are in conflict. Feel your feelings versus don’t have, or at least ignore, your feelings. But of the two, which one is actionable?

You can’t just decide to switch off your feelings and, even if you could, would it be healthy? (As an aside, I’ve asked professionals if they have some trick to turning off my feelings so I can just solve problems, but have so far been rebuffed.) Bottling up your feelings doesn’t work. What does work is processing them. What does work is feeling them.

I believe the good advice I received on handling critique is solid and, moreover, generalisable. It applies to handling rejection too, and God knows there’s a lot of that in publishing.

If I may make a recommendation, it would be this: instead of telling people they “need to develop a thick skin,” you might say “I understand you’re disappointed. That sucks. Feel your feelings, though. Once you’ve processed them, you can decide what to do next.”

It has the dual advantages of being both kinder, and more practical, than what is effectively “You’re disappointed. Get used to it.”

If you’re fortunate enough to be able to provide practical help, even better. If you’re looking for help, I try to help other writers with their craft, with no cost or obligation. If that interests you, get in touch here.