On Writer's Remorse

[Monday Meander]

The following grew from a bit of correspondence with a good friend on the topic of “writer's remorse,” that perennial battle of writing: wondering, daring to find out it isn't good enough, never really knowing, writing anyway because you love it and feel pulled into it, staying with the task until you learn, for which task there seems never enough time, so you 'publish' anyway and then feel the 'ugh' in your gut! 

“If you know, you know” and my friend, who has a remarkable gift for thinking at the core level and daring to shape it into words, knows.

On Writer's Remorse (with a bit of diversion)

I pondered elsewhere whether writing about writing is task-avoidance for a writer: anything to avoid the task at hand. Maybe the trick is to let the habitual diversion – in this case musing about the task at hand – be the actual task.

With that in mind I do indeed launch into a bit of writing about writing. I read Wendell Berry this morning and as always when reading him I catch myself saying, “I could never write like this.” And it is true. Truer still, I should not try.

I mean, of course, I'm not supposed to write like that. We have our own voice. We learn from masters but we are not supposed to be them. We are to be us, we ourselves among community, offer what we have to the world as best it can be, and be glad with the outcome such as it is.

I recently thought aloud on this, telling my son, “The main reason I do not write a lot, much less put it out for others to see, is I fear it is not really good enough to be read.”

“Bonk,” intoned my son, crossing his arms in front of his face. “That is wrong-thinking!” He didn't elaborate but I think I knew his point. We have to overcome a variety of fears if we are to do what we feel we must do.

I remember on this point one of the greatest preachers of the 20^th century, John R. Church. As a young preacher, after a particularly painful effort in the pulpit, his own father urged him to consider whether he should continue. “I can't help it, Dad,” he replied. “I have to preach.” He didn't let fear of failure hold him back, and eventually he learned his craft and blessed thousands.

It's a lesson for all of us, no matter the various expressions of our calling in life. And we all have a calling, that for which we are made, the inner voice that will not let us go and would urge us to be all we are to be.

Along the journey this has meant plenty of “writer's remorse” for me. I have been prone to toss things together in a burst of inspiration and then “publish” it in some fashion, much to my regret. One time in particular I sent something to a person who barely knew me and must have surely scratched his head at my proposed ideas. In any case he never responded.

Of course, problem is, if we wait until we are sure we have everything just right we may never share it. What a vicious cycle! Share it, regret it; don't share it, regret that!

The amazingly prolific writer, Jerry Jenkins, gives a reality check to this when he reflects on his earliest writing efforts for a sports page. The editor rejected an article without ceremony and Jerry was dismayed. “What was wrong with it?” he asked. 

“Were you happy with it?” came the reply. Jerry had to admit he was not. He went back to the typewriter, produced something with which he was happy, and the editor ran it.

Friendship can help with writer's remorse struggles, it seems. We can trust friends with something less than book-ready, and in the process get practice in overcoming our reluctance of rejection. Sometimes when I've imposed some lackluster piece on a friend, the backlash of worrying what they think will just ruin my psyche. Sometimes I've taken the ultimate plunge and shared poetry, and even when clicking "send" I felt reluctance in my gut and constructed structures of self-protection. I feared they'd see all its flaws or that I'd put them in the uncomfortable spot of feeling they must respond positively when they really think it is trash.

But true friends will often listen and read and think with us, give us that vital sounding-board, forbear the nutty stuff, and dare to know there is something worthwhile. This gives me solace in the battle with writer's remorse. Friends can help us along if we let them.

And so I continue to put things out, more and more, for love and a sort of creator's helpless desire to share. It is hard to find the right balance: put things out with caveat and explanation, or wait until it is so good and right there is no need for caveat? Ugh! I recently sent a longish piece to an online paper that has published some of my musings. I knew the piece was not optimal and yet when I re-read it I thought, “I should send this in.” What to do? What to do?? 

I sent it and haven't heard back. Now what? I am letting it go. Not worth the worry. And to the point of all this, it wouldn't surprise me if they say, when they look at it, "That works just fine, we'll run it." Or not. All good. At peace. [Update: they ran it!]

And so, as is no doubt the inclination of so very many millions in this world of easy online publishing, when I write there's something within that says, “I made something. I want to share it!” And so I do (on a non-descript blog that is seldom seen). :)

And there's a topic of rumination for another day, with love to all. Thanks for coming by! 

(And, truly, I know this piece is a bit disjointed, and I'm not exactly happy with it. But I'm not gonna linger longer this time. Out it goes! What have I heard too many times to count? "Quit pointing out the flaws. If they see them, they see them. If they don't, they don't really care, so why point it out?!" Big heart smile.)