I tend to think that most people are makers of one kind or other but only because everybody around me is. Plenty of people are not makers but I don’t know many of them.
Some create new things out of other things. Masons make things from bricks and stones. A carpenter takes trees and turns them into houses, or cabinets, or storage boxes for jib arms.
Those who create software* are a special breed of maker: they create something from nothing. They bring a new thing into existence that the world has never seen before. They pluck an idea from their mind, give it form and shape, and breathe new life into it. It exists only because the maker willed it into being and the creation bears the DNA of its maker. How could it not? Every single aspect of the creation is a reflection of the mind of the creator beginning with the decision to make it.
It can be little wonder, then, that some makers become as protective of their creations as a mother bear is to her cub. This new thing is part of them, comes from them, only exists because of them, and to criticize it is to find fault with the maker. Understandable, yes, but also unproductive and unprofessional.
If you have to work with over-protective creators this should help you know why they are that way. If you are one, stand up on your hind legs and act like a professional. Criticism is the only way to improve your skills. You do want to be a better maker, right?
*Films and videos are just as much software as is a computer program.
Death came calling
As I wriggled in my crib.
A social call, he said,
“Such good friends we will be.
My list overflows with family and
Friends. Can’t stay, work never ends,
We shall chat later.”
Off he flew to take one Grandpa that same afternoon.
Years would flow in joy,
While Death plucked
From his list,
Striking those near and nearer to my heart.
Yet he kept me alive,
A witness to it all;
His wretched art splashed
With the holes Left behind.
“Why must you take so many of my dear ones?” I raged.
“It isn’t I that causes it, but you.
It is the price of your blessing.
Everyone you know is on my list.
Everyone is called.”
Death rode his red stallion
Across the pale light
To touch another on the shoulder.
dysphemism (n). The substitution of a disagreeable, offensive, or disparaging expression for an agreeable or inoffensive one; also: an expression so substituted.
“ The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates. ”
— Oscar Wilde