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As Carol gathered her huge Louis Vuitton bag and said good night, the rest of the group hung back by silent, mutual agreement. Carol hurried off to relieve her babysitter, and the three who remained exchanged glances. Anjali spoke first.
“I know she has years of experience writing and giving critique. But...”
“But she’s so condescending about it,” John said. “That makes her harsh comments even harder to take.”
“If she doesn’t stop bodyslamming me to the ground, I don’t think I can continue here,” Anjali said.
Philippe felt awful. He should have pulled Carol aside sooner. He should have done more to spare these writers her morale-crushing, accusatory style. People seemed to have borne up so far, but inevitably they’d shy away from the barrage of artillery shells that Carol kept firing into their camps. Fear of her critique would sooner or later cause them to go into hiding from writing the truth.
He had failed. In so many things.
