Insecure writer is decidedly insecure... and trying not to listen to THAT voice

Another month has come and gone, and it's time to release our fears out into the world by jumping on Ninja Captain Alex's blog hop of awesome and make some friends. It's Insecure Writer's Support Group time. This month's Co-hosts are Heather Gardner, T. Drecker from Kidbits, Eva E. Solar at Lilicasplace, and Patsy Collins!

I have a whole host of fears and insecurities tied up with how things have gone previously in my writing. Let me take you on a brief tour of the dark places of my writing mind.

The first time I wrote something I was really proud of, a little voice inside my head said that it was really great―revolutionary even. It succeeded in cutting through all the old paradigms and it would bring my work to people in a way that was FINALLY understandable to the science types.

That little voice bolstered me through the dark times of waiting to hear. Would they like it? Would they hate it?

So the moment of truth would come, and I’d open the email. The letter would be two paragraphs long, inevitably something about the bones of the project being there, just needing fleshing out. And then I would open the attachment. 

Imagine, if you will, 300+ comments on a 35 page paper. No line untouched by track changes. Each and every one boiled down to rewrite the whole thing, and for the Love of All Things Pasteur, learn the difference between farther and further. The little voice, the one praising my pioneering ways―my bravery at challenging the way Things Are Done―yeah, that jerk turned on me faster than lunch on a tilt-a-whirl.

In the early comments (of the 300), the direction was, mostly, useful, but as the numbers ticked higher, the comments would circle around to the “I already commented on how your usage of the farther is, strictly speaking, an abomination to the English language!” The gradient had started with professional, but slid quickly into stabby-stabby meany pants territory.

Still, it was a dream I had, so I waded through the vitriol and venom. I rewrote the whole papers, repolished, read every comment three times to be sure I understood what was being said, and then sent it back. Six months to a year (yes, these were ridiculous turnaround times, but that’s what I was dealing with) later, I’d get something back that said “Did you do anything at all? Now isn’t the time to be lazy!”

This was a decade of my life.

And now that I’m in a better place, and working on another dream, I’m insecure about history repeating itself. I’ve already mentioned that my edits are easily a bazillion times better than what I experienced under the thumb of academia, but there’s still this lingering fear that the mean, vengeful side of editing is just around the corner.

What if my editor comes back with “did you even work on this at all?” Or “Now isn’t the time to be lazy!” Or (one of my personal favorites) “How can you be so bad at a language when it is the only one you know?”

And I’m insecure because, on some level, I am lazy. Sometimes I would rather play videogames, or walk through the park, or knit, or all of those things that aren’t writing. And I know that if things come back rougher than I’d like, I’ll blame myself―remember that night you had a glass of wine after work and shot grunts with a sniper rifle instead of working on your novel? It was THAT NIGHT that made this a FAILURE.

In short, the voice lies. And it’s been whispering to me. But even worse than the whispering, is that the voice likes to tell truths mixed in. I’m not that good at English. Quite frankly, my comma placement leaves something to be desired (or at least everyone I’ve ever worked with has complained about my commas). My word usage could be better―puchier, zestier, less unorthodox, and while we’re on about it, I could use some a refresher on the differences between peel and peal and peek, peak, and pique.

So in short, my little voice of doubt (which isn’t very little at all) is telling me 80% of the truth.

(that means it speaks 100% lies―when will I learn not to listen to it?)

Insecure Writer Support Group: Support, support all around…

Ah, somehow, we’ve hit the first Wednesday of the month. How? How—I ask—could the world have possibly managed to spin all the way to August? Still, here we are, and it’s time to send some love to the Ninja Captain, Alex, and this month’s cohosts: Sarah Foster, Joylene Nowell Butler, Lily Eva, and Rhonda Albom!

This month I’d like to talk about something that doesn’t always occur to people.

It really isn’t you, it’s me.

I know, that’s so cliché, but it turns out, it’s true.

On this journey as a writer, I have been met with some incredible support.* My family. My friends. My fellow writers. And through it all, I was the one who doubted. I was the one who poked holes in my projects, told myself my writing wasn’t good (to be fair, it hadn’t evolved yet). But it was me. I tore myself down and refused to listen to the people around me. I refused to believe my family and friends and even my fellow writers. I even refused to believe strangers when they said nice things about my writing. Even when it was anonymous.

Then something changed. I heard them.

What they were saying hadn’t changed.

It was me. I changed.

One day, all the support in the world didn’t help. The next, it did. It was like the channel was scrambled.

I know it’s a little corny, but take a moment today and listen to the actual support around you. I know that my inner voice wouldn’t make a very nice friend, so I encourage everyone to take a moment to let that voice in your head be quiet and listen to others. Allow your loved ones to give you the support they have been offering to you.

That’s all.

Simple right?

Well, talk to me again tomorrow. I’m sure the little voice just took a vacation.

*to be clear, I’ve been met with some amazing a$$hattery as well, but my big problem has always been disregarding all the nice things and only ever hearing the negative ones. I bet I’m not alone in that regard.

That Voice, you know the one

I know all the parents in the audience—and not a few of you older siblings—will absolutely understand when I say, some children’s toys are obnoxious. Blinking lights, ear piercing sounds, you name it, those things were designed to make other people crack.

Someone once gave my sister’s boys these key chains. If you pushed the button, they lit up and played an annoying song. I’m sure you can imagine how pleased she was when her boys decided those key chains were the funniest things on the planet (times two, of course). I’m not certain how the boys managed to live, but this is where the story gets ugly. Children will be horrified, and parents will say, “No jury in the world would convict you.”

My sister’s husband saw one of the key chains sitting in the drive way. If he didn’t swerve the truck out of the way, he would surely run over it. He hit the key chain. Then he backed over it, twice, for good measure. He went to the store thinking that damned key chain was done and gone. It’ll teach the kids to leave their toys in the drive way. Ha, ha. Triumphant father drove over the key chain on the way home too.

When the boys came out to greet him, one of them saw the key chain. “Oh no!” he exclaimed as he ran out to grab the key chain, heart in throat at the loss of his beloved toy. He retrieved it from the driveway, and hit the button. The light went on, and the song played. All was saved. My sister’s husband glared at the keychain.

The key chain fell in the sink, was stepped on by the horse, chewed on by the dog, and, after my sister had warned them to pick up their things and it was left out, the key chain was put into a bowl of water and frozen.

Yes, frozen.

In the freezer it stayed for over a year as the family recovered from the parental hysterics (they hated that toy!), when my sister’s husband had gone on a fishing trip. When he returned with much fish on hand, they needed to go through the freezer to make room for the fish. Everything came out of the freezer, including the key chain.

It thawed, and one of the boys saw it. “Oh hey, there it is, I’d been wondering what had happened to this.” And before either my sister or her husband could get to it, he’d pulled the key chain out of the bowl that had encased it for a year, and he hit the button.

As the stupid song began to play, my sister deployed her husband for the hammer. Yes, the hammer. He smashed the key chain with the hammer… and you know what? The key chain got stuck on. As in, it couldn’t stop playing the first five notes of the song. Over and over and over.

Last week, as I was bemoaning the drudgeries of rewriting a manuscript, when Elizabeth Seckman made a comment:

“And the whole time the little voice never does go away that's whispering "you suck". I wish I could pull the plug on it, but I think it has a battery too.”

Whenever I think about the voice that nags the crap out of me (and it does!), I’m reminded of the key chains. Annoying song I can’t stand, a limitless supply of power, and my complete inability to turn it off. I don’t know if there’s any real cure for that little voice, but you can change its song. Give it a couple of lines, treat it like a canary and see if that stupid voice will sing some of those lines back to you (and hopefully not in an ironic way).

And just remember, everyone has that little voice.

Oh, and the key chain ran out of batteries after two weeks stuck in the on position, but it had to be banished from the house during those weeks. I’m sure you can imagine why…