The other was from a lady who suffered an appalling tragedy some years ago, and has just begun to laugh again, as a result, she says, of reading these same inappropriate pieces of prose. 

Most writers are familiar with widely varying reactions, of course. What appalled me was the shallowness of my response. I pictured the first writer as an irascible horned bigot, and the second as a beautiful, sensitively insightful creature. Sadly, I'm no better at taking criticism now than I ever was. 

I haven't moved on at all. I still hate all criticism, especially the constructive sort, because then you have to do something about it. Naturally, as a Christian, I freely forgive people who say negative things about me. Naturally. I'd like to take a sharp stone and scratch "I forgive you" on the bonnets of their cars. 

Nevertheless, and joking apart, I know from painful experience that I actually need criticism, but it has to come from someone who provenly values me, and even that's not easy. For instance, when my wife, Bridget, comments negatively on something I've said or written I'm likely to get cross, but I will then take my crossness into a corner for closer examination. Almost always, you see, she's right, and I value her wisdom. I just wish I didn't go through this process of childish resentment each time. 

Ah, well, my experience of God is that he's very understanding, so I'm going to ask him to help me become a bit more balanced in the way I handle this sort of thing. In the meantime, I'm afraid my attitude to criticism is still summed up in these words:

Freely I confess my sins
For God has poured his grace in
But when another lists my faults
I want to smash his face in.