"I Will Die on This Hill."
Creative differences—the bane of every writer’s existence. What do you do when you disagree with feedback? Do you fight for your vision? Acknowledge the truth in the critique? Give up and move on?
Since Jerilyn and I started writing at such a young age, we’ve had our fair share of disagreements (read: fights).
When we were younger, those fights could get…intense. We’re both stubborn (hard to believe, I know). As teenagers, most arguments ended with one of us storming off and the other furiously attempting murder via death glare. Eventually, we’d make up (mainly because we shared a room and passive-aggressive silence five feet apart gets old real fast). But when it came to writing, we had a simple question to help us settle creative differences. Who was willing to put in the work?
It’s one thing to argue for an idea. It’s another to actually sit down and write several chapters to bring it to life. If one of us fought hard for something but lost interest the moment it required effort, we knew it wasn’t worth keeping.
Now that we’re older, our disagreements don’t get quite as heated. (I credit better communication; Jerilyn insists it’s because I’ve matured—I, of course, have always been mature. So in this case, we agree to disagree.)
These days, we settle differences by asking a simple question: How much does this matter to you?
If it’s a 2/10 issue for me but a 9/10 for Jeri, I’ll let her have it. If I’m willing to “die on this hill,” she’ll usually let me.
And we still use the same philosophy from our teenage years—if you love the idea, put in the work. If you disagree with constructive criticism, ask yourself why. Is it because it’s your writing and you’re too attached to let it go? Or do you genuinely believe it’s better as is? Some critiques can be ignored, but most are worth at least considering.
At the end of the day, your goal as a writer isn’t just to write what you love—it’s to create the best story for your audience. And sometimes, that means letting go of something that makes sense to you but might be confusing, distracting, or unnecessary for the reader.
And yes, that realization hurts. I can’t count how many times I’ve had to change something I thought was perfect. But if it misses the mark, I’ve learned to accept the edit.
So if you find yourself clashing with a writing partner—or a beta reader or editor—ask yourself:
Will I care about this decision in three months?
Am I reacting to this critique emotionally, or is there a logical reason to push back?
Would this change improve clarity, pacing, or emotional impact for the reader?
If I make this change, does it strengthen the story’s overall vision?
Am I resisting this because of pride, or because it truly serves the story?
Then, if you’re feeling particularly down after some rough critiques, remind yourself:
The best writers don’t just write—they rewrite.
Every great story has been edited—sometimes ruthlessly.
I am not perfect, but no writer is. My goal is progress, not perfection.
One critique doesn’t define my talent. Every edit is an opportunity to sharpen my skills.
Every revision brings me closer to the writer I want to be.
Creative differences are inevitable, but every discussion, every critique, every revision is an effort to make the story stronger. Disagreeing isn’t a bad thing—it’s part of the process. But at the end of the day, the story is what matters most. Don’t let critiques and differences destroy your creativity. Instead, help it fuel you to continue to work hard and practice your craft.
The only way to become a better writer is to write.
So keep reading and keep writing.
— Jenette
