Spring has arrived, which means I am transitioning into survival mode. I’m working six days a week, and my days are a blur of plant deliveries and customers’ questions. Any spare time at home in the evenings and on my one day off are dedicated to writing and editing. I know a few of you actually look forward to my weekly blog posts on Mondays, which I appreciate. For the next few months, these posts will be less frequent. 

Last Monday, I didn’t have time for a blog entry, so I wrote a rather lengthy Facebook post. If you missed it, I shared some news. I am working with an editor! It’s a small step towards having a book published, but I’m excited about this development. Your comments on that Facebook post made me teary. It’s so heartwarming to know how many of you are celebrating with me and believe in me. I sent the first essay to my editor last week, and I received her feedback on Saturday. This, too, made me pretty weepy. It’s one thing to hear praise of my writing from friends and family. But to make an editor say, “Wow. Well done.”, and see adjectives like “fascinating”, “compelling”, and “moving” attributed to something I wrote was thrilling. The essay wasn’t perfect; she had suggestions for how to tell the story better. But since I felt this nagging possibility I’d receive feedback indicating that my story was hot garbage, I was over the moon when I read this email. We have scheduled weekly Zoom calls on Mondays. Today I learned a lot about how to make a good story even better. I can’t wait to use this knowledge to improve my other essays.

I’ve spent many years listening to people who focus on my shortcomings and things I shouldn’t do instead of using that energy to recognize and nurture my talents. This has made it difficult for me to accept praise when I’ve done something right. No matter how many people tell me I’m a good writer, I will always have this deep-seated belief that I’m not good enough. I crave hearing “Well done” (even though I sometimes find the praise hard to believe), and I really hate this about myself. If this writing gets out into the world, I know I will have to develop a thicker skin. In my 40s, I’m learning the hard way that I can’t please everyone. While I hope my book makes its way to people who will find solidarity within my stories, I am aware of this reality: my essays are guaranteed to piss some people off, and bore other people to tears. Knowing this doesn’t make the bitter pill any easier to swallow. 

I am so very grateful for those of you who are in my corner, whether you’ve always been there or arrived just recently. Thank you for your words of encouragement. Some days, they’re the only thing that spurs me on.