I love writing and even wrote a 130k word fantasy novel. But there is one thing that really angers me.

I loved writing all my life. When I was younger I was dreaming of becoming a writer and went to college to pursue that dream. But, as it happens sometimes, my desire to write was stifled because the desire to have a future was greater.<br><br><br>So I left college after only a year and went on to become a teacher (I love teaching even more than I love writing and it is fulfilling). But, I continued writing. I wrote four novels, edited four novels, and all of them were shit. Suddenly, I was going through a lot of stress because of work and my writing became very formulaic and predictable. It was like if when you get angry, every word you said was "FUCK". Suddenly all my writing became formulaic, repetitive and predictable because I was angry and even more angry because I was unable to write even a single sentence that would make sense. I was writing sentences that were like the one I created in this post's title because I was unable to think straight. I became really frustrated with my writing and I was on the verge of stopping writing for good.<br><br><br>But then, something magical happened. I had a mental breakdown and was forced to stop working for a month. It was nightmarish to the extreme, and I am still recovering from it, but that mental breakdown allowed me to focus on my writing more than I have ever done before. As I was writing, my mind started to clear, and my anger vanished, I realized that writing is what I love to do the most, and I started to enjoy it again. I wrote a new novel, a fantasy one (140,000 words long), and it was actually good! It was the first time I had written something that someone else could read and actually enjoy. Don't get me wrong, it was not perfect.<br><br><br>There were some things that even I could not stand, but it was, overall, enjoyable. And even though my own edition and critique were not enough, I was not going to hire a professional editor. However, I wanted a fourth opinion, and I was not going to show it to my family and friends because I know how flawed their opinions are. So I went to the beta readers.<br><br><br>Oh, the beta readers. Those mythical creatures that you can find online and even in your own town. They are the holy grails of amateur writers because they will edit and critique your work for free. I found ten of them online, and none of them had a problem with the length of my novel. I sent it to them all and waited, and waited, and waited.<br><br><br>Three of them never responded, though one of them said that they were going to write my review four months ago, and I am still waiting for it. Four of them never finished my novel, one of them gave up after 10,000 words, and so on. Two of them did finish my novel, and I got two very nice reviews that were overall positive but also very critical of my work. But there was one beta reader that stood out from all of them. The one who made me write this post.<br><br><br>This beta reader contacted me and told me that they did not want to review my novel. Why? Because I asked for too much! I asked them to read a 130,000-word novel, and *gasp* edit and critique it. I know it is horrible, but they were kind enough to tell me that I should not be so lazy and edit my own work myself. <br><br><br>Edit a 130,000-word novel? But I already did that! I was livid and furious. This beta reader was right. I was lazy, and I should have edited my own work. Maybe that was why I was so unsuccessful as a writer, why my work was so horrible, and why people hated my writing. I was so lazy, and I was so horrible that I thought that beta readers and editors were human beings that could be treated like unpaid slaves.<br><br><br>I am no longer angry when I write. I am not lazy, and I am not horrible. But there is one thing that really angers me.