How My Blog Made Me Rich and Famous - 6/7 June

6 June 2012

I’m skyping with one of my best friends, Kate, and we’re talking about my blog.   The blog that is going to get me rich and famous.  Kate, who has been a writer her entire career – master’s thesis, doctoral dissertation, radio documentaries and accompanying books and web pages – says, “Have you thought about taking a writing class?”   I wince as a pinprick hole opens in that thin membraned little reservoir that houses self-confidence (I believe it is located near the gallbladder).   Even as my nose stings, and my eyes ever so slightly tear up, I know I am over-reacting, so I say nothing.  Secretly and furiously I try to use grown-up rationality self-talk to repair the hole.  Like that ever works. 

So we continue along.  Then, very reasonably, not knowing I am fragile because I stupidly don’t tell her so,  she says, “Caroline, you need to find someone to edit your writing.”  Okay, yes, that makes sense.  Of course.   And then she adds, “Even real writers use editors.”  At this point, a full-on tear opens up in this delicate little self-confidence balloon.  The force of the release whooshes it completely out of my body.  I watch it go zigzag skittering across the floor and come to a stop in the corner, small, deflated, emptied.  

As I get ready for bed that evening, I am feeling really, really discouraged, and vow to do nothing but work on my CV the next day, leave this silly writing behind, buckle down and find real work.  However, as real as those feelings are, I notice that I also already am composing a blog in my head, trying to capture the essence of how I experienced the conversation.  I can’t seem to help it.

7 June 2012

Today I am trying to figure out why my reaction was so out of proportion to Kate’s very good and reasonable suggestions.  Did I really think that I came to writing so naturally that I was beyond a writing course?   Did I really think that I was a good enough writer that my work doesn’t need editing?   I’m ducking my head in shame and averting my eyes now because I’m going to admit something very embarrassing.  Please don’t look at me when I tell you this.  Yes, maybe, a little. 

So, the best I can come up with now is that it is all part of the growing process.  Up until this point, I have drunk in all the encouraging and supportive comments which have come my way and nurtured my belief in myself.   I am grateful for those because as a writer still in the baby stage anything else might well have snuffed out my nascent efforts. 

But now that I am putting out there that I really want to do this, not just as a fun little past-time, but as something I am going to pursue more seriously I think I’ve entered a whole other ballgame.   I think the ballgame is the one where I have to say, “Please tell me how my writing sucks.  And I’d be most grateful for any suggestions of how I can make it unsucky.”  

I also truly believe that in my journey there will be turning point moments, or leap forward moments, when someone says something that stings, that is hard to take in, but that is exactly what I need to hear.   I am 100% sure that this conversation with Kate is one of those moments.  Thanking you in advance, Kate, for the fruit that conversation will bear.