I’m a full on writing snob. And I’m sorry about that; but at the same time, I’m not sorry.
If you write something that I find unforgivably terrible — for example, an angst-ridden seven-page anecdote about your boyfriend breaking up with you — and you don’t expect anyone else to read it but yourself, I can dig that. But if you hand it to me, ask for feedback, and expect to hand it in for a grade, I am going to tear your work a new one.
I’m a harsh critic. When critics are too nice, they irk me. When they’re too soft, I want to use them in a pillow fight and smack the writer over the head with the critics’ resolve. To be a good critic, you’ve got to be tough. Constructive and knowledgable, of course. But above all else, you’ve got to be tough.
And if you can’t handle the torture of a very frank review — one in which the writer may insist that you retake a course of Basic College Writing — then perhaps you shouldn’t put pen to paper again. If you can’t defend your writing in front of the critic, then you should realize that something is wrong before it’s too late.
But — but — if you can absorb what the critic has to say, respond maturely, and learn from that harsh beating instead of try to fight against it, then you stand a chance of getting better. You stand a chance of improving your writing. And most of all, you may just become a Writing Snob yourself.
That’s why I am who I am. I don’t want to hurt. I want to help. And I’m sorry if there ever comes a time where you misunderstand that.