I Wrote About Not Wanting to Brag.

I didn't publish it. I wrote this instead.

Photo by Siddhant Kumar on Unsplash

A few weeks ago I got an email notice that Connie Schultz (Yes, that

Connie Schultz

. Pulitzer Prize-winning Connie Schultz.) had paid for an annual subscription to my other blog, Constant Commoner. It came as a shock and out of the blue and I didn’t know how to handle it. I was thrilled, of course, and my first thought was, '“I have to tell somebody!”

So I texted my kids. And they were thrilled, too. And so far they’re the only ones who know about it. And it’s driving me crazy.

I have a thing against bragging. I despise bragging. I grew up despising bragging and I often wonder if there’s some hidden long-ago reason for that. It’s ingrained now and there’s nothing I can do about it.

When I brag I hate how it makes me feel. I often don’t know the difference between announcing and bragging. It all feels like, “Hey, look at me!” and because I’m now writing more personal stuff I already feel there’s enough of that.

So I try not to do it.

But Connie did something else: She recommended Constant Commoner. So far I’ve gained more than 50 subscribers just from her recommendation alone. I’m so grateful I can’t stand it. I’m thrilled, I’m intimidated, I’m doing all I can to keep from finding a damned microphone and shouting it to anyone who will listen.

I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know how to handle it when someone I admire admires me back. I want Connie to know I’m grateful. So grateful. But I don’t want to capitalize on her fame. I don’t want to use her to make myself seem more important.

Does that make any sense at all? I don’t know. An hour ago I finished a draft on this very subject, except I went through the entire thing without naming that ‘important writer whose name you would surely recognize’. It was about my need not to brag. It was about wanting to brag. It was about bragging without naming names.

It was stupid. It was dishonest. I knew even before I finished it that I could never publish it. Then I took a walk. And now I’m back here writing this, naming that kind, thoughtful person who has given me such a lift I may ride on the force of it forever.

I’m not famous in the least, but now and then I get messages from writers who admire aspects of what I do. Sometimes they just want to let me know, but sometimes they want some encouragement. They need assurance that all of their hard work is worth it. I hope I give that to them.

We’ve talked about our community of writers often and it seems we never run out of things to say about it. But what is the main glue that binds us? It’s generosity. We feel everything and we know how everything feels. We take the time to let the others know.

It’s tough out there. We don’t want to do this alone and we don’t have to. This blog—this blog right here—would be nothing without you. I would be nothing without you. I have a feeling many of you feel the same about our community. We’re a team now and we’ve built this on our own—not just here at Writer Everlasting but at your own spaces, too. We’ve found each other.

I feel honored and, okay, dumfounded by Connie’s subscription and subsequent recommendation. But there’s something else afoot. I feel empowered.

That’s what any praise should do. It should give us a sense that we’re seen. Someone gets us. In those moments we’ve become somebody to somebody else. I wonder…if it never happened, if we never got praise, could we go on?

I doubt it. Why would we? We claim we write because we must, but why do we publish? Because we want to be heard, we want to be seen, we want to make sparks fly.

The next time we’re moved by somebody else, we need to let them know.

Give them—I’m just going to say it—bragging rights.

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