Medium has prepared me for the big kid pool
I have a confession to make. I edit your work in my head while I read it. I delete words, I add words, I change “brilliant” to “radiant” and throw commas around like I’m Ma Ingalls seeding a wheat field. Now before you get self-conscious about your latest post after you get a heart from me, take a deep breath and admit it. You do it, too.
This isn’t to say the work in front of me isn’t excellent as written. It is, or I would have moved on after the first paragraph. I can’t write what you write, in fact, I think most of what I read is better than what I write. It inspires me. The stream of edits rushing through my overactive brain are based on my style and my compulsion to edit. It’s almost happening on a subconscious level.
I edit when I read out loud, too. I spontaneously change sentences so they flow better. Better for me, that is. When my son catches me in the act (I forget he’s sometimes looking at the page, too) he doesn’t hesitate to correct me.
“You left out half the sentence!”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes it was. The floor wasn’t just clean, but ‘sparkling white, like fresh winter snow reflecting the polar sun’s rays’ clean.”
I disagree with my son and the author, but this realization has been pivotal to my growth as a writer. More specifically, publishing on Medium has grown me into a confident writer.
There’s plenty of phenomenal writing I’ll never read. Maybe it doesn’t interest me or maybe I don’t feel the rhythm of the words or maybe it’s Monday. We all have preferences. If a subset of readers enjoys what I write, I’m satisfied. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s ok, because I’m more of a coffee person.
There’s only a subset of readers for any writer. Believe it or not, there are actually readers who enjoy James Joyce. No seriously, there are people who have read Ulysses cover to cover. I’ve never been able to finish any of his works. If I’m honest, I can’t even plow my way through one single paragraph of his writing and that’s after two beers. So what’s my point?
I’ve accepted that my writing doesn’t have to be flawless or universally appreciated.
Critique used to be a bad word
As much as I want to write in a vacuum, then dazzle you with my riveting stories, it doesn’t work that way. My fantasy was to live in a remote cabin for a year where I can write a bestselling novel. Who’s with me? Of course, no one will be there to edit my work before I get too far off track, but I’m confident I’ll catch all those mistakes I habitually make, even though I’ve never done so in the past. Indeed, a recipe for success.
However, I write in the real world (like you do) — before work, after work, while I’m making dinner, weekends before anyone is awake, amidst constant interruptions and falling asleep mid-sentence. I need many sets of eyes on my work.
I’ve been reluctant (ok, afraid) to put my fiction out there for anyone other than my husband. He is a merciless editor (let’s call him Shreditor because I love giving people nicknames), but he gets a pass because he loves me. I listen to the voice in my head when it says, “What a mean-spirited, cold-hearted, and unnecessarily evil edit Shreditor just made. But I know it isn’t personal. If he was going to leave me because of my amateurish prose, he’d be long gone by now.”
Somehow I’ve never been able to cut a stranger the same slack. When they point out my plot holes, worrisome pacing issues, or devotion to using the word “that” absolutely any place I can squeeze it in, I take it as a personal attack on my fragile ego, who, by the way, lives in a rickety old shack teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff.
So it was fated for Medium to appear in my life. A friend suggested it and for him it was very black and white. He thought, here’s a great tool, write some great content, and put it out there. Easy. “Why aren’t you doing it yet?” he badgered me, “It’s been a week, come on. Does it really take you a month to write something? Write anything! You said you liked to write.”
I learned quickly he didn’t want to hear excuses about my brittle writer’s soul. He was a hard-ass about it. Thank you,
! (Every writer needs an Aaron in their life).To stop his interrogations, I took the leap into what I thought would be the deep end, where I would certainly drown because all I had in my swimming arsenal was the dog paddle. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised to find Medium could be my baby pool. Yes, people pee in it sometimes, but no one is actively trying to drown me here.
I put my words on your screen and feel safe knowing Mediumites (for the most part) operate on the theory of positive reinforcement. Good = heart, meh = no heart.
My Next step
My perspective has changed. I’m not looking for acceptance, I’m expecting to improve. My intentions have changed. I’ve begun writing a novel and at some point in the future, I’ll be ready for a critique group. Nine months ago I wouldn’t have even considered this. My blog posts here will change and I hope to not only keep all my readers, but add more. However, if my new stuff is just not your thing, don’t worry, my feelings won’t be hurt. Except you, you know who you are, you won’t abandon me, right?
And don’t worry, I will continue to edit your stuff in my head.
If you like what you’ve read, please recommend so others can see it and check out Drafty, my new publication.
