The greatest compliment a writer can get is, "I read your stuff." You can follow that with a compliment, a critique, a suggestion, a question, or a defamation of character and talent. Doesn't matter much, we are already smiling. A story, essay, poem, or article, is our child; notice it, and we tend to beam. Oh sure, attack it and we get defensive, but most of us tend to believe that the "child" can stand on its own feet and defend itself without much intervention. So speak your mind. Truth is always important. We seem to be living in a time when mediocrity is the norm. We are afraid to damage the self esteem of anyone for fear that it will cause them to go off the deep end and commit all sorts of crimes against both society and themselves. While I will agree that self love and esteem are important, isn't it better to simply love the good in a person instead of trying to dance on eggshells regarding their faults? We have gotten so politically correct and fearful of hurting feelings that we are now in danger of no longer recognizing the truth. Current doctrine demands that we not call a spade a spade. Bullshit! I began writing poems and essays at the age of thirteen. I wrote for a variety of reasons. One of those was that I could always think of the perfect thing to say, about five minutes after it was appropriate to say something. I started writing them down to remember for the next time I wanted to win that particular argument. Poetry was a release of confused emotions screaming to get out of my angst filled teen body. And when I learned that girls were impressed with sweet words... whoa baby, I was a poet! I still have all the poems I wrote and most are awful. Most of my themes were macabre. Dark depressing pieces about death, dying, hopelessness. My mother hated them. In fact, she refused to look at them after only a few, she cringed when I tried to hand her something to read. Mom loved me, and praised me too, but she constantly bad mouthed my writings. And for good reason: they sucked. Did this stop me from writing or even slow me? Hell no. She obviously could not recognize true talent. Every writer I know t ells one of two stories. Either their writing was ridiculed by family and friends, or they never built up the nerve to share it with anyone. And yet, we keep writing. Apparently, writers have huge egos and need no encouragement. At fourteen, I also started developing the other three skills I am most proud of: dancing, music, and sex. I danced because it felt good. I must admit girls again played a part in this. I was laughed at many many times for my ineptness or my over exhuberence on the floor (I was the guy at the prom doing the spins and chorus line kicks). I kept at it because it was fun; the dancing, not the ridicule. All my friends played musical instruments, that is why I decided to learn one. I had three friends try to teach me guitar; two try to teach me piano; and one band instructor throw up his hands after a fruitless week with a violin. I also attempted bass guitar, flute, and drums with equal success: none. Believing an ad in a comic book, I took up the easy to learn harmonica. My friends cursed and screamed when I tried to play along with songs on the radio. My mother banished me to the utility room outside where I would play to the same Jim Croce album for hours on end. My playing was so bad, for so long, that I had to beg a friend to allow me to jam with his band when I got back after my tour in the military. He was shocked that I could actually play. That was 1981 and I am still with that band. Sexually, I read everything I could get my hands on. I also tried to practice everything I read with everyone I could get my hands on. The Kama Sutra, Masters and Johnson, Kinsey, I was vorocious for the subject. I even did a high school term paper entitled, "Sexual Suburbia." I got a "B." The times were the sexual revolution and as hungry for this knowledge as I was, everyone in authority, was trying to suppress it for my own good. Today, my wife is not an unhappy woman. I am not overly proud of my sexual abilities per se. Every man thinks he is the greatest lover on the planet. I realize this is simply a matter of gender with no basis in reality. It doesn't help when you ladies confuse us by telling each of us we are the best ever. Not faulting you t hough, you know as well as I do that the male ego may not be able to handle anything else. My source of pride is in my knowledge of the subject, not necessarily in its application. Although I have been told I am the best. I do not claim to be Stephen King, Gene Kelly, John Popper, or John Holmes. However, I am adequate with those skills. They are what I do best, and I learned them all without a great deal of encouragement. These tales of learning are very very common. Every single person I know has some skill or ability that they learned which they were not immediately good at, and which they received criticism for, at least initially. A lot of us learn best from our mistakes. A good friend or parent will tell you when they think you are making a mistake or doing something poorly, your enemy will keep silent. Your lover will give instruction, a hooker couldn't care less. If someone you care about attempts something and does poorly with it, don't tell them it was good. Tell them to keep trying, but don't lie to them. Tact is a great tool if you can use it, because without it, people will surely rebel against your advice and opinion. "Honey I love you, but you kiss like a dead fish," is bound to start a fight; "I like it better when you do this..." is much more effective. But however you say it, be sure to say it. If my mom had liked my stuff earlier, I might still be writing suicide notes and passing them off as poetry. If my first girlfriend had been shy about telling me that my tongue could not reach all the way down into her stomach and my trying was gagging her, I may never have learned to unsnap a brassiere one-handed. And we all know this is a requirement for all teen boys; never quite mastered until the need for such ability has long passed. If we fear the truth, we are left only with lies. Reward poor performance, and you will be rewarded with mediocrity. Demand perfection, and you are pissing up a rope. Still, it sure beats the confusing alternative.©MichaelWest