Four Ways to Silence Your Inner Comments Section
By Kelsey Allagood | January 26, 2022 |
Crack open any book on the craft of writing published in the last fifty years, and you’re almost guaranteed to find a chapter on how to “silence your inner critic.” The inner critic is that voice that says you’re not good enough, that you need to go back and fix this awkward phrase or that plot hole before you even think of sharing your work with another soul, you hack. And there’s some excellent advice out there from giants of writing: Stephen King in On Writing advises outrunning the inner critic by refusing to turn back and edit until the first draft is complete. In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott suggests envisioning each critical voice in your head as a mouse, which you will then silence by dropping them into a Mason jar and screwing on the lid.
All good advice, and still relevant. But the longer I’ve been writing in the internet age, the more I find myself allowing in a new inner critic that these classics don’t address:
The inner comments section.
Comments sections are often cited as the worst places on the internet (Writer Unboxed is a notable exception, and I promise they did not pay me to say this), but the same principle can be applied to anywhere that an audience is invited to respond directly to published content, including social media. Our inner comments sections, like our inner critics, will all look different, but mine resembles the sort of commenter that takes every sentence in bad faith.
Unintentionally, I’ve started couching the words I write in clarifications against arguments that no one has made, almost as if I’m trying to anticipate every bad-faith reading someone could have. I even did it at the start of this post: writing, “All good advice, and always relevant,” after quoting two respected authors, as though to head off someone asking whether I’m saying that King and Lamott gave bad advice. I know I’m not the only one, too; once you notice others doing this, you won’t be able to unsee it.
And the thing is, no reasonable person would read the opening to this post and jump straight to, “Are you saying that these two authors aren’t smart? What makes you any better??” But that’s the way my brain has adapted to existing on the internet. Even when I wrote political opinion pieces for my college newspaper, I didn’t get that many bad-faith responses, though that was [REDACTED] years ago, and this particular form of casual internet harassment seems to have gotten more popular since then.
Like inner critics, inner comments sections will say that you should probably just not write at all. But unlike inner critics, your inner comments section may tell you that it can be silenced if you simply write in such a way that eliminates every possible bad-faith reading. That is, of course, impossible. Attempting to write a perfectly watertight article or a novel without plot holes is a great way to A) go insane, and B) play the world’s worst game of Whack-A-Mole as you chase every possible misreading of your words off the edge of a cliff.
In some cases, advice geared toward silencing our inner critics can also be applied to inner comments sections. But I would argue that we must also look at our inner comments as unique obstacles that require unique responses. Luckily, there are things that we can do to keep these voices from taking up residence in our minds as our inner critic’s loud and cranky neighbor.
1. Understand that your brain is trying to protect you.
A few years ago, a scientist claimed that housecats see their owners as nothing but big, unintelligent cats. That’s the reason our pets bring us dead mice and birds: they think we need help feeding ourselves. I like to think of our brains as similar to these cats. Humans didn’t get this far without a healthy sense of self-preservation, and part of the reason behind that is the protective instincts in our amygdalae. If an action carries a risk, the amygdala says, then we shouldn’t do the action. Unfortunately, most actions carry risks—even writing. But the amygdala is just one part of the brain, which does not understand that other parts of the brain are capable of managing threats when they occur. In short, when your inner comments section gets loud, that’s your brain sensing a threat and trying to protect you from it. By understanding this, we can remind those slightly more evolved parts of our brain that our inner comments sections are not real threats. And even if we do experience something unpleasant in a real-life comments section—unless there is an actual threat to our physical safety, which unfortunately is an all-too-real possibility at times—we are adults who can use healthy coping mechanisms to manage our distress.
2. Recognize the difference between your inner critic and your inner comments section.
There are some fundamental differences between it and your inner comments section. Your inner critic tells you that your writing is crap, that you aren’t good enough, that your story is unimaginative, that you’ll never sell that book. In a twisted way, the inner critic is (unkindly, and not productively) trying to get you to be a better writer. There’s a reason the inner critic is also sometimes called the inner editor: you’re channeling what your brain thinks a (not nice) editor might say to critique your work. Unlike editors, though, internet comments sections aren’t there to help your writing improve, nor are they supposed to have your best interests in mind. In their purest state, comments sections are there to allow readers to engage with the text and with one another. In reality, they are often populated by people who are there to tear someone else down. Many modern tips for dealing with the inner critic advocate for self-compassion, or for replacing the urge to bully yourself with gentle encouragement and understanding. But when caught imagining the internet discourse forming around our work, we can remind ourselves that comments sections are not looking out for us at all. They are not our colleagues or our friends: they are background chatter. Why would you listen to someone who’s just being mean to you out of spite?
3. Actually face the bad voices.
Allowing the inner critic to take up permanent residence in our minds is not a good idea. But sometimes, ignoring a problem will only make it worse. To silence in inner critic, I’ve found it helpful at times to sit down with a pen and paper and list out, stream of consciousness style, every fear I’m having about my work at that moment. I’ve started doing the same exercise with fears related specifically to reader reactions to my work. Every time I allow the inner comments section to say its piece, I recognize just how ridiculous they sound. As someone who processes information best through writing, I’ve allowed myself to take pen to paper and write down every silly response and bad-faith argument that I can think of someone having to my writing. By doing so, I’ve helped myself understand that if I live my writing life in fear that someone will misunderstand or respond poorly to something I write, I would never write anything. And since that’s not an option for me, I’ve found it easier to look past the risk that there may be a bad response one day, and choose to keep my voice and stay true to myself. Because that’s how I’ve decided I want to live my life: as long as I write things that I myself can be proud of, I’ll consider myself a success.
4. Take external actions for internal comfort.
I’ve written primarily here about the inner comments section that exists only in my head. But it’s no secret that some writers, especially those from traditionally excluded backgrounds, have been targeted by real threats to their physical safety. Before you sit down to write, consider whether you feel prepared to accept (and overlook, ignore, or report) negative reader reactions. Is there a way you can write what you want while understanding—and not minding—that you may receive some blowback? If you can’t possibly write this thing without being distracted with fear over a potential response, are there steps you can take to make yourself feel safer? Consider whether you would like to take concrete steps to protect yourself—for example, using a pen name, scrubbing your personal information from the internet, using auto-block lists on social media, and so on. Sometimes knowing that we have taken concrete steps to strengthen our safety and privacy can go a long way toward quieting fears.
Do you have an inner comments section that has kept you from writing? Have you found other ways to silence your inner comments section?
Kelsey Allagood (she/her) is a writer, occasional photographer, and trained political analyst specializing in the causes of war and systemic oppression. This background led her to begin writing fantasy fiction steeped in the anthropology of conflict.
Her writing can be found in literary magazines such as Barrelhouse, GRIFFEL, Menacing Hedge, and Wanderlust. Her photography has been featured in RESURRECTION mag. She has also written on peaceful resistance movements, art as a form of political resistance, and countering violent extremist ideology.
Kelsey has a Bachelor’s Degree in international and cultural studies from the University of Tampa and a Master’s Degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University.
She lives in Maryland with her husband, mother, and a rescue dog named Henry.
[coffee]
I definitely have a comments section in my head. But I don’t think it’s always a bad thing. It’s usually an echo of the comments I’ve read that resonate with me for some reason. During the first season of Stranger Things, Twitter, especially romance booktwitter, blew up over the treatment of Barb, the BFF left behind. She was suddenly the example of all the BFF side characters who get dumped and never mentioned again as the main character’s romance blossoms. I was writing a novel at the time and I listened to the comments section. I did everything I could to break that trope, while still keeping the BFF as a side character. She was loved and appreciated, interesting and beautiful. The hero thanked her with tears in his eyes for helping the mother of his secret baby through pregnancy and birth. He gave her a present for being there when he couldn’t. Every single female beta reader I had loved her (and the hero).
Of course there are other times when the comments section tells me I shouldn’t write something at all. Like you, I find writing it out helps me understand the real issue that is nagging at me. If it’s something I feel passionate about writing, then I will tell myself no one sees the first draft. Write it anyway. With each draft it becomes clearer if it serves the story or not.
Thanks for the post. You identified something I haven’t seen identified before.
Ada, it’s funny, I almost included a section in this post about “but what if the comments section is actually right?” but then I realized that probably deserved its own post. I know some people take issue with public call-outs, but reader reactions to problems in other works have made me think harder about the sort of tropes and stereotypes I may be unintentionally reinforcing in my own stories. And that’s something I’m glad I’m paying closer attention to–not because I don’t want to be called out, but because I don’t want to hurt anybody. I love that you flipped the “disposable BFF” trope on its head. Now if only I could get my brain to separate the good advice from the bad advice…
Be polite in actual comments, but write a story knowing you don’t give a rats ass what anyone thinks.
Stephen King said something like that too, didn’t he? If he didn’t, I just did. The inner commenter needs to just shut up, the story needs to flow. And I ask you, which of those two things is more important?
Don, I’m going to print out “Write a story knowing you don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks” and post it in front of my desk so I have to read it every day. Excellent advice, as always.
Kelsey,
Agreed. I have two signs above my desk. A “No Parking” sign to remind me I’m supposed to be writing, not parking my butt and doing stupid stuff. The second one is: “Alcohol because no great story ever started with someone eating salad.” I may have to find room for a third sign.
“…write a story knowing you don’t give a rats ass what anyone thinks. Stephen King said something like that too, didn’t he? If he didn’t, I just did.”
And we thank you. I couldn’t agree more.
Interesting thoughts, Kelsey. We warn ourselves not to please an inner critic that can never be satisfied… but what about a defense mechanism that’s suggesting actual tweaks we *could* make to make the work “more reliable”? At what cost?
Worse, there’s a fine line between taking time to make writing clearer, and losing time and momentum putting out tiny fires that aren’t really fires. What happens when a loyal fan tells you they honestly misread something, and and we start seeing more and more ways a paragraph could be misinterpreted if you leave anything to chance…
In the end, I think it’s an editing question. Sometimes we can keep the whole picture and the clearest key words in mind *as part of* staying in flow, without losing the poetry. But more often it’s better to put those “but what if they took this as–” thoughts aside for later, when we’ve already written it our own way, and we can come back and decide which worries we can patch without compromising the words. And which were never worth the trouble.
Ken, I love how you said we first need to write it “our own way”–that should be obvious, right? But I know I can sometimes be so focused on my (eventual, imagined, highly critical) future audience that I start to turn away from my own authentic voice. An excellent reminder that writers should stay true to themselves. Thank you for reading!
Diana Gabaldon responds to people who leave scathing remarks about her writing in the best way possible. It is, paraphrased, “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the book. Not every book is for every reader and I hope you enjoy the next thing your read more.”
I had a friend who wrote the Plague of the Dead: The Morning Star Strain series. Zach was a really talented writer and all around fun guy. He published his story on his blog. Then it got the attention of a small press and they wanted to publish it. Great. Then the books were selling like gangbusters and Simon and Schuster bought the rights and republished the first two and had him scheduled to publish the third one. A true Cinderella story and we were all thrilled for him.
Alas, he got a direction wrong in the first book and it was an area he’d been to in the army. He knew the difference. Knew where the town was, but just missed it. So did everyone else. An astute reader caught it, however, and raked him over the coals. I mean he took a knife to him and butchered him over one mistake in the book.
Zach couldn’t get over this. It devastated him and crippled him. He didn’t even want to write. I made him look at all the great reviews he’d received and asked if he was really going to give one little pissmire that much power over him.
The simple truth is someone out there is going to hate your story and maybe you for some reason. That’s on them. They only have as much power as you give them.
People think professional bullriders out tough a bull. They think how powerful they must be to ride a 2,000-pound bull. The truth is most bullriders are small and yes, they are in good physical shape, but they practice balancing. You can’t out tough a bull. You have to dance with them.
Writers need to learn that balance also. Do the best you can. Your competition is yourself not every other writer. Take the good with the bad and learn to put the comments away. Balance it out.
Julie, I note that the Morningstar Strain novels–a Zombie apocalypse series–runs to six volumes, so I presume that the author Z.A. Recht got over it? Maybe he heeded the maxim of survivors in his story world: “Live or die, kill or be killed”? Seriously, it would be interesting to know how he overcame the paralysis inflicted by one lone, but savage, critic.
Donald,
Zach had two of the books republished by S&S and had just finished the third one when he died unexpectedly. They hired someone to do the final revisions on it and then continue the series. The mistake that almost derailed him was in the first book and he did learn to deal with it, but it was a hard journey for him to put the critics where they belong.
I think mainly, he had a very strong support group that made him look at his writing and accept his talent. Unfortunately, not every writer has this support. And, I think you are right, he took the maxim from his story and realized it was up to him to make the choice to survive and write again.
Julie,
“Your competition is yourself not every other writer. ”
Yes!
I can’t believe a reader would skewer somebody over a single mistake–Actually, I can 100% believe it. But still. One of my favorite exercises when I’m feeling discouraged is to look up books that I love and go read their 1-star reviews. Often, the things that some readers hated the most are the things that I love about those books. It really makes me internalize the fact that you can’t please everyone (and frankly, I believe, shouldn’t want to).
Also, I need to work “pissmire” into my everyday vocabulary. :)
Excellent advice, Julie!
I laughed. Can you tell I write historical? It skews my vocabulary.
I often look at reviews and scathing comments of successful authors and remind myself there’s always someone out there waiting to tear you down if you allow them to. The only people who please everyone are the people who do nothing.
I very seldom leave negative comments on books unless it’s a historical non-fiction that is glaringly wrong about important details. That is one of my pet peeves. I spend too much on research books to waste it on authors who don’t care.
All I can say is: “When you have put in the work, dump Impostor Syndrome.” It takes too much time. But don’t try to skip the effort – that way lies hack work.
Use, instead, a finely-attuned inner sense of something not being quite right to identify places where you are not as clear as you want to be – and tweak them appropriately. And listen to your beta reader.
Ask yourself: do I have the skill/craft/tool to fix the current awkwardness? If not, hie ye off to acquire it and use it; it feels good.
Questions about your moral character and fitness for the profession are useful in the beginning stages, but an anchor chained around your waist after a certain point. Just do the work.
There have been so many smart, pithy statements in this comments section (a rarity among comments sections!). I’m going to print out “When you have put in the work, dump Impostor Syndrome. Just do the work.” and post it in front of my desk next to Don’s advice. Thank you for reading, Alicia!
Let me know in a year or two whether I have led you astray, or saved you grief. :)
Kelsey, I always love your posts. This one is especially resonant–and I love the distinction you draw between the inner critic and the inner commenter. Excellent practical and useful advice. I’ll be sharing it with authors.
Thank you Tiffany, that means so much! I’m so happy you found this post helpful.
Interesting distinction. My inner editor never shuts up and there are random thoughts that flit in that are more “comment”-like. Mostly it’s in the vein of “what would my mother say?” So I simply let those thoughts pass and carry on.
I honestly think this is brilliant: the idea of imagining those “comment section”-like thoughts as coming from someone whose opinions are…let’s say more easily ignored. I’m going to try to work this into my toolbox. Thanks, Vijaya!
I like to distinguish between the inner Editor and the inner Critic. The former will help make your writing better; the latter will try to destroy it. This new category — The Public Commenter — belongs to the same realm of outer darkness where you’ve hopefully banished the Critic.
Beth,
Agreed. A writer needs that strong inner editor.
The critic, well, Toby Keith had a good take on them. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=150_4SLqCBc&ab_channel=PatriciaGorman
The inner comments section has been particularly relevant to myself over the past couple of years when writing a novel that tackles the issue of the recent/ongoing grooming-gang scandals in the UK. Since the scandals involved strong racial elements as well as the sensitive topic of child sexual exploitation, I was constantly combing every sentence for any word or phrase or implication that could cause offence and trying to be completely balanced at all times. I sent it out to lots of beta readers and felt devastated every time they came back accusing me of racial stereotyping or whatever (despite the fact I’d carefully stuck only to the wording used in the official UK government inquiry into the issue!). Then one woman came back to me lambasting a casual reference by my young heroine to her learning-disabled half-brother and suggesting the use of the word ‘neuro-diverse’ instead. (My heroine is a working class, high-school drop-out who definitely wouldn’t know that term). At first I despaired, then decided her point was valid and I hadn’t been paying attention to other potentially sensitive issues and changed the language to something more accepting that my heroine might validly use. Aware that the cultural issues involved could cause me to receive death threats or violence, I made sure in advance that I wrote under a pen-name and made sure none of my personal details are available online and I never put an author photo anywhere. (I’m not as brave as my brother who was involved gathering evidence against one of the gangs who boldly puts at the end of his blog – send all your death threats to this address: and puts his email! But he is single whereas I have to protect my husband and family). Since publication, I have had moments of panic when I realised that the ‘gender identity’ issue is changing so rapidly (with all sorts of vitriol being spewed on every side of the debate) that a remark or two from my heroine could be taken the wrong way these days. Doh! It’s a hard line to walk. We want to be fair, balanced, inclusive, loving, but there are so many different points of view in the world that you can never please all of the people all of the time, and there are deliberate trolls out there. And you have to wonder who it is you’re trying to please? In the end, you have to stop worrying about everyone else and stick to your guns and your own personality to write a distinctive, unique and engaging story or it will get watered down to the lowest common-denominator.