Anyone who creates something and allows another human being to experience it places themselves in a position of vulnerability.
For writers, it's part of the process of developing a thick skin. We seek honesty, not vacuous platitudes. If someone loves what we've created (and don't we live for that?) we want it to come from a position of knowledge of craft and the hard-knocks of personal experience. Only then does it count.
But today I discovered I can get de-conditioned to putting myself 'out there.' It's been long enough since I've submitted to my critique partners that my tummy did a little extra gurgling and I searched for reasons to delay.
I went from the need to find little things my tidy grandkids left behind after their weekend with us, to gardening, to dinner plans, to the great debate on whether or not I needed to apply mascara today (I didn't). I ended with the predicament of transitioning my proposed submission from Scrivener to Word. Not that it wasn't malleable. It just wasn't a flawless export. I mean, really. A few more hours and I think I could have figure it out.
CR: The Dead Whisper On by T.L. Hines
It's all better with friends.