I'm a shitty writer, and a crappy artist.

Or maybe it was crappy writer and shitty artist. 

Either way, the truth is debatable, but that's what one of my "friends" said in a comment on my facebook page.  To her credit the comment disappeared a moment later, replaced by an edited version- still insulting but somewhat less so.

 Baby Spewing Stars (mama with the blue hair)

This "friend" was someone I'd met years ago on the now defunct Ebay blogs ( a misnomer, as these "blogs" functioned more like a forum). Many of us spent a fair amount of time together in this online venue, sharing our lives, our successes, our heartbreaks, and most of all laughter.  So when Ebay did away with the blogs a bunch of us came together again on Facebook.  I estimate a quarter of my 300 or so facebook "friends" are from the old Ebay blog days, and there are maybe a dozen of those that I feel I know and like well enough to invite to my home should they ever be in my neighborhood.

But some, like the one referenced above, are less known to me.  Until the other day, anyway. When I expressed my honest opinion regarding a recent event. There were some to concurred and some who felt differently. I expected that. What I didn't expect, nor deserve, was the hatred and cursing and personal insults spewed on my "wall" from this one individual who had rarely, if ever, spoken to me prior to this day.

It would have been easy to delete her comments and to block her from posting on my wall, but I didn't do that. I left it alone, in part, I realized later, because I needed to experience and explore my feelings about the discomfort I felt at her venomous attack.  It surprised me- the degree of upset I felt- and I realized that I had to allow it. Kind of like falling- it hurts a lot more if you fight it, you end up breaking a leg instead of temporarily losing your dignity.  

So I let the ugly post live.  Eventually the ranter got tired of ranting, and- I thought this was funny- ended it by blocking me.

Here is what I learned:

I do not need to be liked by everyone.  In fact, since I wear my opinions on my sleeve, I will not be liked by everyone.

If I am to write, and create art, I willingly open myself to criticism, both constructive and psychotic in nature. 

Que sera, sera.

I am secure in the knowledge that I am a better writer than most of the people I know, and not half as good as any of those I read.  And that's okay with me.

As for my art? Well, she may have been right about that. But I don't pretend to make beautiful (or good) art; I create because the act of creating fulfills me. And, even here, I have my admirers.  

Here is my question for you- Do you put yourself "out there"? Do you worry about critics? Do you find that you are more or less willing to be vulnerable as you get older?  Are your feelings hurt by "friends" on Facebook or other social media, and if so, how do you deal?