DO Read the Comments

We’ve all heard the common wisdom: don’t read the comments. Because when we write that unexpectedly viral essay, or even just one that stirs up some feelings, the comments can get mean, even unsettling. Readers with axes to grind want to sharpen them on a writer they don’t even know—someone whose life they’re removed from, on a high, judgmental ledge.

Not reading the comments protects our feelings. We’ve had our say, and really, there’s no need to defend our point—we’ve already won just by getting published. If someone’s really angry, let them write their own OpEd.

But reading the comments serves us, too. At best, we hear from those touched by our experience, given hope by our words. But what about name-calling, deep misunderstanding, blaming, shaming, and even the dreaded internet “pile-on” with hundreds or even thousands of people advocating against us, loudly and publicly?

Negative comments—even the most vitriolic—are a good sign.

People who enjoy our work say so. People “meh” about it just move on without interacting. But the hornets’ nests we’ve poked show us where we scored.

Think about it. If someone says something nonsensical or silly, why bother to engage? I don’t argue with, say, Flat-Earthers—I smile in amusement, as if a toddler is advocating the health benefits of gummy bears. Cute, but irrelevant. But give me an article opposed to say, feminism in street performing, and I’ll engage until the earth is scorched because I care a lot about that topic and it deeply matters in my world. Yet even then, the article’s got to be well-written and well-reasoned, or why bother? Again, toddler. Why waste time on something easily dismissed?

When something we write reaches into someone’s heart and threatens something they believe in, causes them to question their own views enough to get angry, makes them so involved in what we had to say that they had to bite back—that’s victory, too.

Reading negative comments thickens our skin. The first nasty comment is often deeply hurtful, even demoralizing. But once we’ve heard it, subsequent versions lose their power. Years ago, I blogged about the dissolution of my then-marriage, largely due to my own bad behavior. The first “selfish slut” comment stung! But by the fiftieth shaming, I thought, Is that the best you’ve got? while watching the comment count click higher. Well-thought-out comments telling me how wrong I was led to writing more essays directly engaging with the ideas, sometimes pushing back and sometimes embracing their point of view. Our writing—especially in memoir—is stronger when we show the hero’s mistakes and bad choices.

You may not be ready to read negative comments on your published work, and that’s OK, too! For a soft engagement, have a friend screen comments, share the nice ones, and identify any trends: “Three people think you overlooked the importance of bio parents having a say, but five adoptees are so happy you made the point about adoptees surrendering rights they aren’t qualified to give up at a young age.”

Most importantly, reading the comments fuels our writing and our platform. Practice reading comments on writers you admire, whose careers you hope to emulate. Is there a disagreeing comment with a good point? A rationale the original writer didn’t touch on, or an angle they didn’t consider, that actually strengthens their argument? Do you have information they didn’t include, perhaps due to lack of space, or they just didn’t have? Write an OpEd or essay in response, or start a conversation on social media.

Look for trends and insights in the comments in venues where you hope to publish, or where those essays are discussed. For example, a friend and colleague wrote a wonderful Modern Love essay about therapy and adultery. Discussions about the ethics of self-revelation popped up in therapist groups on Reddit; arguments on behalf of the spouses left behind were written on a website that supports cheated-on partners. I don’t know if the original author read any of those—but if I was moved by her story to tell my own, starting with those comments could help shape an essay about therapy, adultery, the ethics of writing, or even seeing a relationship from multiple points of view.

Perhaps your lived experience brings a new light to the original argument; or you’ll realize that people care more about one angle of your story than another. Maybe you’ll even discover that something you believed was “normal” is unexpected to other readers—and that’s an essay in itself.

Engaging with reader comments in a controlled, purposeful way decreases their power to hurt, while preserving the joy of connection. We create publication opportunities by actively bringing ourselves to the cultural conversation, and by paying attention to the writers we admire and the disagreements and controversies they stir. Engaging with what’s on our readers’ minds, and on the minds of other readers we hope to make our audience, helps create platform—one driven by deep, meaningful writing.

*Originally published on the Brevity Blog.