Do It Scared – Bloody Editors & Feedback Fears
On Monday, I woke up and decided today was the day to publish again on Elephant Journal, an online magazine that claims hundreds of thousands of eyeballs stop by and stare at words for a while.
I’d published two pieces nearly a year ago on being good enough and navigating the holidays alone.
How time flies…
So Monday something shifted in me and I thought, it’s time. It’s time to simply submit and let her fly.
And I did that Monday, times two. You may remember that some social platforms went dark that day … a day for the history books [wink] as Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp were down for the count not just for an hour or two but f-o-r-e-v-e-r.
And for some, it literally felt like a lifetime.
So I wrote about it, in a tongue-in-cheek way – Calling all Therapists: Get them Coaches Ready! Facebook Went Down!, and published it live on Elephant Journal immediately.
Tuesday morning I greeted the day to find that piece was chosen as an editor’s pick by the lovely, Elyane Youssef, and already seeing a bit of traction – readers. You can check it out here.
But today I want to dive into the interesting phenomenon that happens so often when a writer submits his or her words for publication.
They are loved and yet lacking. Or they are lacking and not yet loved.
Either way, there is work to be done.
“In coaching writers, artists, creatives, I see so often that feedback is taken as a personal attack when in most cases it’s offered simply to make your writing, your art, better. ”
And this happened for me with that second piece, At 11, I Held Hands with Death, which I submitted on Monday.
[By the way, not my original title but I like it!]
Pause for a moment and notice my intentional choice of words.
I submitted work.
A published author of numerous books, not known by this new-to-me Elephant Journal editor, the gracious Amy Vanheste, and she gave me feedback.
She loved the piece yet found it lacking.
Amy believed there was work to be done in order to publish and told me.
So, I said above this happened for me not to me.
In coaching writers, artists, creatives, I see so often that feedback is taken as a personal attack when in most cases it’s offered simply to make your writing, your art, better.
Now, feedback for me, I once took without thought.
I operated from a space, a place, of believing that everyone, anyone, knew better than me. A low-low-low self esteem.
But now, I am a stronger-in-self bad-ass woman. A writer who knows what she desires to say, listens and absorbs feedback, and then chooses with love and JOY to say yay or nay.
All is a choice.
The feedback Amy shared with me was valid and I knew immediately it would make the piece stronger.
To tie my own unique purple ribbon on a personal experience.
Her way was all about sharing what a brush with death meant to me and not leaving the reader hanging, feeling there should be more said. Shared.
I tend to let the reader make up his or her own mind, not feeling that my neat-little-bow-of-conclusions matter in one’s interpretation of my words.
Yet, I saw her point and thought, perhaps my added perspective would make this piece better.
So I wrote her a new ending immediately in the email thread she’d sent me and her response came less than 30 minutes later.
Loved it.
Amy shared it was a go and the piece would be published tomorrow.
Which is today… and yes at 6:30AM it was live. You can read it here and I suggest you do before continuing on…
As this is where it gets good.
What’s Written,
What’s Published –
Not Always The Same
There is what I wrote and what she ended up publishing.
Two very different sets of words.
Still mine, but minimized, tweaked, shifted, rearranged.
And I could be mad. I could raise a stink.
I could bemoan the fate of a creative forever misunderstood or I could say “cool” and move on with my day.
I’ll leave it up to you to decide which way I JOYfully chose to roll. [wink]
But after you give the published words a read, come on back here to see the original ending I wrote, it’s just below, and you be the judge.
We all need an editor and for this piece, I think this editor did my words justice and gave me an opportunity to stretch myself.
Leave me a comment and share how you feel.
Published ending or mine below..?
Which one calls to you, oh reader, my dear…!?
And next time you hesitate out of fear
to send in a submission,
thinking some editor will tear your words to shreds,
do it scared.
The next time you receive feedback on anything you do or write, take a deep breath and place your hand on your heart.
Do I receive this? And wait for a beat.
When you practice this you will get good at hearing the yes or no. It may be a feeling or an inner voice, simply tune in.
The choice is always yours to make.
And then, this is key, make it and move on.
Original Submitted Ending
I have always known the power of words –
both spoken and written.
I grew up in a generation where we still chanted
"Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words can never hurt me".
And even back then,
I knew that childhood sing-along
was nothing but
a lie.
Words rattle us,
shift us,
empower us,
disempower us.
Words move us to tears, laughter and can leave us swimming in fears.
Words can lift one high
or quickly plummet one low.
I felt that one word.
Mateo.
Remembered yet again,
a whisper through my night.
A reminder of a time
as a tune from a favored soundtrack
played loud.
Having this man's name,
a name I did not know the meaning of,
left ringing in my ears...
yet again
Inspired curiosity in me to know more.
Because words do matter.
This I have forever known.
And how fitting,
that his name literally means
God's Gift,
for he taught me so very much.
About life, death, destiny, surrender.
Which hell, haven't we all be marinating in –
deeply,
these last few unpredictable years.
So now I am left to reflect, as some 32 years later,
as I finally write this piece
on first
journal pages...
How this was the year I chose to focus on my own name.
To get to know myself –
completely.
Jill. Youthful. Child of the Gods.
That last I did not know until just now.
As I did a quick – thank you Google,
search.
Child of the Gods. Me.
God's Gift. Mateo.
In looking at my name
these last ten months,
I have gotten to know myself –
all the cracks and crevices,
nooks and crannies...
All the light and shadows
beyond the skin and bones being
that you see.
Just as Mateo gave me so much insight
in his passing
and in the remembering
of the special moment I held hands with destiny.
A name. A word.
Now gives me –
everything.
When You’re Ready
to Let the Words Bubbling Within Out to Play
This is the safest, most JOYful place to step into and begin.
Absolutely free – right now.
Post Photo Credit: VJP