I remember the first time I showed something I'd written to anyone else. It was 1997, and I was barely 18 years old. I'd written a script for a Ghanaian movie called Lesson Five.

It was meant to be an action movie about a young guy who gets caught up in a drug-smuggling conspiracy involving his mother and some spare parts dealers.

It was meant to be an action movie in a Ghanaian setting, and I was very excited about it. 

Now, I was so proud of my work that I wished the world could see it. I wanted someone to see all the hard work I had poured out by hand (not many laptops in 1997) onto the pages. So I took it to the office of my favourite English lecturer. He took one look at is and said, "It's all wrong. Nobody will  understand this. You'll have to do it again".

I was stunned. Ah. This guy paa. Did he not know how much time I spent writing the darned thing? How can he look without even reading it and tell me it's all wrong? I decided there and then that the learned professor either had no clue whatsoever about English Language and had no idea what a masterpiece looked like, or he was just jealous of me and wanted to suppress my shine.

Either way, I tuned out the rest of his ramblings as he went on and on about whatever made-up reasons he had for rejecting my work until I heard the words "fantastic imagination"… What was he talking about? Surely, not my work.

So I turned back just in time to hear him say, "so if your work doesn't come to them in the format and layout that they recognise, they certainly won't stop reading the 100 other scripts on their desks, just to make time to try and understand yours. Which means they'll never find out how fantastic your imagination is unless you rewrite it all in a format that they will recognise."

Ok, so then I understood what he was getting at. I still wasn't too happy though. I didn't get why film producers couldn't discard their annoying old ways and embrace the new way of writing that I had invented. So I tried to explain my way of writing to the Professor. He listened for about three seconds and asked, "Kojo, are you going to go round explaining yourself to everyone who reads this? Or would you rather do it again in a way that needs no further explanation?"

Friends, I don't deny how unpleasant it can be to hear someone tell you what is wrong with you, or the work you've done - especially when you have put so much of yourself into it. Of course, you know yourself, and you know when you have worked your hardest and put your best effort into it. So when someone comes along and picks holes in it, the whole thing sounds like the person is disputing how much effort you put into it. It's like this person has come out of nowhere to tell you whether or not your efforts are worth anything.

But here's the thing I learnt that day from the English Professor: First, it doesn't matter what you intended to achieve. What matters is whether people get what you achieved. So you may think you've said the smartest thing ever, or you've done your best work ever, but the true measure of the things you say or do is the way it affects others.

Feedback is a tricky thing. Often, we think our critics have simply misunderstood us, but the truth is, the fact that they have misunderstood us IS the feedback. So if you ever find yourself having to justify what you have said or done, take it as an indication that you didn't convey your intent as well as you could have.

All feedback is useful. All views of your work and words are potential ways of improving. No matter how harsh, no matter how unfair you may think it is, no matter how misunderstood you may feel, learn to take it on the chin and use it to do better next time. They say business is all about the customer, and the customer is always right. Well, life is the same, and every criticism, every feedback you get is the clear voice of your customers. They are the ones watching what you say and do, and whatever they say, whether you like it or not, they are right.

My name is Kojo Yankson, and we have a saying around here: the real economics of what we do is not measured by what we produce, but what is consumed.

GOOD MORNING, GHANAFO!