My dad once said to me writing was like a kid going up to his mom with a drawing and going, “Mama look it!” (translation: “Mama, look at what I did!”) And he was right because that’s what writing is if you share it with the world. Yet writing, like a child’s drawing, isn’t always received well. I think a lot of writers have a fear of their work being shredded or blown off if they share it so they keep it to themselves. It is an act of bravery and courage to share your writing with the world because you have to be prepared for the best, and the worst.
It’s not a fear of my writing being shredded that held me back for so long. It was a fear of having to deal with people accusing me of being an attention-seeking martyr-whore for putting my writing out into the world, and worse if I was successful, being accused of being a one-trick pony or that I really didn’t deserve my success. It’s why I kept my writing to myself for so long or presented it as a harmless little hobby instead of the grand passion that it’s always been for me.
Fear of success to my mind sounded stupid the first time I thought about it. But as I dug into it I realized it was a real fear. It was real to me because my fear was that any success I ever achieved would be used against me. Yes, I thought success would be used as a weapon to alienate me from people I cared about, such as my parents when they were both alive. I feared people telling my parents that my success would take me away from them forever (which it wouldn’t have at all). Why would people think like this is a question I don’t have an answer to, other than people are stupid as hell sometimes in addition to self-centered assholes who project their own bullshit onto innocent people.
But as I look back on my writing life, I realize I didn’t pursue so many opportunities because I feared any success would be used against me. I only told a few people I once got a short piece published in my local newspaper, and I told no one I could a story published in a national magazine (Playgirl- see story here). I also never talked about my rejection letters with too many people either other than fellow writers who understood what rejection meant.
Now I will admit that a lot of people really don’t understand writing or how it became such a grand passion for me. That’s for me to explain and no one else. Writing isn’t like a drug that I get a hit off of to get high because a lot of times it’s a slog through the muck of words to find the right ones that come together they way I want them to. Praise and compliments on my writing are awesome and always greatly appreciated but it’s not why I write though I’m sure there are people who feel that us writers are out chasing compliments to feed our fragile egos.
It’s not so much fear of success or failure that haunts me and I’m sure a lot of other people, but fear of having to deal with someone’s bullshit and falling for it. I know how vulnerable I was in the past and I know I still have that vulnerability in me though I just try to guard it better now. As my father used to say, assholes are mostly born that way and they usually don’t change either. If someone comes at you with falsehoods about you and your work, try to straighten them out. If that doesn’t work, tell them to take their shit-takes and shove up their asses. And most of all, top all that off with a resounding ‘fuck you’ and walk away.
I don’t think anyone will have the tits or the balls to come at me with shit like that anymore. I think I’ve made it very clear how I will respond to fake shit aimed to hurt me simply because someone is an insensitive asshole. But it’s been a long hard road to reach this point inside me where I can say this out loud in a place like this blog here. It’s not working through the pain and misery and the wounds themselves but working through the how and the why behind my feelings.
I will say this here: if you decide to share your writing with the world, you are seeking attention but on your own terms. I don’t believe most writers seek attention as an ego stroke unless they’re already raging egomaniacs to begin with. Most writers I know write to share their words with others to make a connection like they connected with other writers and their words. If someone doesn’t understand or believe that, that’s on them. It took me a long time to understand exactly why I write and why I want to share it publicly. I’m glad I figured it out and accepted my reasons as valid and worthy.
Luckily for me I haven’t had to deal with a lot of bullshit about my writing in a very long time. Now people tell me how well I write emotions in my work and how I can draw them into a story. That’s exactly what I want to do with my work and I’m so happy it’s well-received like that. My thanks to everyone who shares that connection with me. I’m forever grateful for that.