Fellow creatives, if what you create pisses people off, you’re probably onto something. You know the kind of hate I mean, that shows up with passive-aggressive silence, unprompted criticism, or your former friends whispering that you’ve “changed.” Well, good, because the writing process should change you for the better. Whether readers are changed by what you’ve learned, well, that’s an entirely different beast that you’re never going to tame.

I’m not talking about writing trolling-for-clicks hot takes. I don’t go for edgy-for-the-sake-of-it provocations. I mean those times when you write something aiming to create real discomfort in the hearts and minds of readers. I used to pursue the kind of writing that makes someone squirm in their seat because they weren’t ready to hear the truth wrapped in glitter and barbed wire. But when people got angry, or worse stopped showing up, I started backing down with my more incendiary takes. I know now that was a mistake, and this is why I’m making a point of why you shouldn’t hold back now.

Of course, not all hate for what you create is undeserved. Sometimes you just made a bad thing. That happens. Maybe your brilliant opus about questioning the sentience of goldfish, was in fact, just a drunk ramble in disguise. Own it, then laugh, and move on. But don’t throw the idea in the trash heap just because it didn’t land the first time. Some of the best ideas were born ugly and misunderstood.

Bland work doesn’t get hate. It gets ignored. I started playing things safe when losing my very lodging was dangled as a distinct possibility unless I pulled a certain article. I should’ve walked away from that hellhole then, but I just hadn’t yet learned my hardest lesson. Hate means someone noticed you on about something. It means you struck a nerve. Hate means you walked into a room, set down your creation, and someone across the way choked on their overpriced coffee because your truth burned a hole in their curated reality. If that’s not art, what the hell is?

Every time I’ve made something I thought was brilliant, the silence that followed was deafening. Or worse, I’d endure side-eyed disdain from people who clearly wanted me to stay smaller, quieter, and more manageable. That’s when I knew I hit gold, not because I wanted to be hated, but because I refused to be forgettable. And yet, I allowed myself to remain forgettable until something better came along. It did, for me, but I’ve relied on dumb luck too long to advise you to do the same.

Rejection isn’t a verdict. It’s like the weather report. It tells you what kind of climate you’re stepping into—not whether you should go back inside. If you want to make something memorable, truly wake someone up from their algorithm-induced coma, then for the love that all that’s holy STOP aiming for applause! You need to aim for an appropriate reaction, whether that’s a gasp, a laugh, an uncomfortable shift in posture, an eye twitch… Maybe all of those should be a goal at various junctures of the essay. You want something that people will have to reread and make them want to comment, “This bitch really said…” Yes, indeed, she did, my astute reader!

You don’t owe anyone pretty or nice. You owe them truth, in whatever reckless, glittering, and glorious form it takes. That’s the deal we signed up for when we chose to make things that matter. if they hate it, that means you wrote it like you meant it. You dared to say the thing someone else was afraid to think. That means you’re not writing to be liked; you’re writing to be heard.

Now if they really, truly hate it, and want you to be excised from the universe, just smile sweetly. Then sit back, have some delicious tea, and go write something even louder and more obnoxiously truthful for next time.

~ Amelia Desertsong