My family is great (fantastic, wonderful, amazing) in so many ways. They're really good for bouncing story ideas around and for helping me develop my story. They're great for research.
But they aren't writers. (Okay, one sister is.)
When they read my work, sometimes their feedback upsets me (because they just don't understand that you don't SAY that when you critique someone else's writing because it's MY book, not theirs) or it's bubbly-positive and I can't trust it because, well, they love me and care about my feelings.
Oh, goodness... and then there are the relatives that ask: How's the book coming along? every time they see me. And every time they do, I think of Stewie from Family Guy:
How you uh, how you comin' on that novel you're working on? Huh? Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Gotta, gotta nice litte story you're working on there? Your big novel you've been working on for 3 years? Huh? Gotta, gotta compelling protaganist? Yeah? Gotta obstacle for him to overcome? Huh? Gotta story brewing there? Working on, working on that for quite some time? Huh? (voice getting higher pitched) Yea, talking about that 3 years ago. Been working on that the whole time? Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah?Here's a link to the video, but I'm sure it violates some kind of copyright, so who knows how long it'll be up:
And then there's "that guy" who tells the WORLD that I'm (writing a novel, submitting to agents, got a partial request) and then I have random people come up to me and practically recite the above Stewie transcript.
So, yeah. Even though my wonderful family has the best of intentions and are taking an interest in what I do, I don't love sharing every intimate detail of my writing with them.
I sometimes feel lousy, unappreciative, and ungrateful, but at least I'm sane.
So really, when I say "Blissfully Ignorant", I'm talking about their ignorance and my bliss.