Those Things We Write Because We Must

They're not always well received. No matter. They're out there now.

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***Confession time. I just found out from someone who went from here to my other Substack blog that I’d somehow missed that the comments button on the piece I talk about here was still on ‘Paid subscribers only’! I’ve fixed it and anyone can comment, but now I’ll never know what the comment section might have looked like if I’d been paying attention. How embarrassing! I thought about withdrawing this post altogether, but I think there are some valid concerns here anyway, so I’ll leave it.

Just so you know. I’m so, so sorry! Gah!! 😱

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I’m going to try to write this without sounding whiney. I had a disappointing day yesterday, a demoralizing day if you want to know the truth, but I’ve slept on it now and I think there’s a lesson to be learned.

It’s not the first time I’ve been disappointed or demoralized—gawd no! But the almost total dismissal of a blog post I published yesterday, a piece I’d fussed over and thought might add some clarity to a topic I care deeply about, brought on what felt like the beginnings of an unexpected and unwelcome bout of anxiety.

The topic, while political, rested on who I am as a person, so publishing the piece, pulled from several other pieces I’d written on the same topic, was scary. (Even after all this time, I still get scared. It’s true.)

I went back and forth about publishing it. I held off for hours. I revisited it a dozen times to change some wording until it said exactly what I wanted it to say. And then I pushed the button. And waited. And…nothing.

A few ‘likes’ and, after almost an entire day, one single comment—favorable, I’m happy to say. But that single commenter also restacked my post and became a paid subscriber.

And the dark clouds lifted. Just like that. All it took was knowing that one person got it. It wasn’t all in vain.

I shouldn’t be admitting any of this, but there’s more I want to say about what happened, and it’s universal:

It’s terrible, that feeling of being alone and neglected after sweating over a piece we’ve put out into the world, hoping others will see what we see in it, and then they don’t. We know—small consolation—that we’re not really alone. It happens to all of us and it’s embarrassing. It’s painful. We want our readers to let us know they’re there and interested—even if they don’t always agree. We would prefer that they agree, of course, but couldn’t they at least let us know they’re there?

They won’t always. And it’s nobody’s fault.

I’m guilty of ignoring posts I might have read if I’d had more time. I sometimes start to read posts that don’t really interest me and I quit, moving on without ‘liking’ them. I read posts I don’t agree with and instead of offering my ineffective two cents, off I go. The poster doesn’t know I was ever there. And sometimes I’ll read something I do like and forget to hit the ‘Like’ button. So who am I to think anyone needs to pay attention to me? I’m nobody, that’s who.

We write that thing we write because it’s important enough for us to spend the time it takes to get it right. It was never theirs, as much as we might like their blessing. It’ll always be ours. And now it’s out there.

So here’s the thing I’ll take away from this: That post says everything I wanted it to say. I made sure of that. And now it goes into my ‘Gold’ pile. It’s a piece I’ll draw from again and again in the coming months or maybe even years, because I might want to talk about that very subject and I know I won’t be able to say it any better. I will already have done it.

It could be that nobody will ever pay much attention to the entire piece, but I wrote it as an affirmation, as a way of explaining something I felt a lot of people get wrong, and as a tribute. I did my part. I did what I set out to do.

And there it is. If you know the piece I’m talking about, please, I beg you, do NOT apologize for not responding to it. I would be mortified if that’s what you take from this. I want, instead, to be able to talk honestly about what it means to us when we hear those crickets and feel that emptiness. I want us to get over it, but when we can’t maybe we should talk about why we can’t.

Will that piece you were so proud of suddenly turn to shit when it doesn’t get the reception you thought it would? No, of course it won’t. It’s still the same piece you wrote. Why is it so hard to stay proud of it?

But maybe you’re one of those who sees any rejections, real or imaginary, as so much water off your back. How about letting the rest of us in on how you got to that point? Did you always feel that way? Can you ever really stop caring?

I hope you all want to talk about this as much as I do. But if you don’t, well, as I said, this goes into my Gold pile. I’ll haul it out someday and use it somewhere else. 😏

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