Look forward to shit...
Yesterday, every time I changed my son's nappy he had only made a pee.
Yes, a pee nappy is far better than a toxic mess, but when they are that age it is important to monitor their stool frequency. It isn't as regular as clockwork. So by late afternoon and while changing him again, we made a pact that the only time I would put on a new nappy was if he had made a poo. He unfortunately did not uphold his end and when my wife got home, she frowned at me wondering why our son had suddenly picked up so much weight.
Just kidding, it wasn't that bad.
So, everytime he made even the slightest fart (some are trumpeted) during the night and this morning, I jumped up expecting a reward based on our agreement. I know this sounds strange, but I have never before looked forward to a shit nappy as today.
Then it happened. I was so excited I immediately messaged my wife. She knows I'm a nut so she merely replied with a smiling emoji. Afterwards, when my son offered a smile of relief, it reminded me of when I first started writing.
Once the writing bug had bitten, I searched the web far and wide for a writing forum I could join that didn't frown upon or make fun of newbies like me. One eventually stood out, so I subscribed. I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole to discover an entirely new and wonderful world. They sat me down and explained how everything worked, and also advised me on which animals to feed and not feed. In fact, I am still in contact with writing friends I met soon after becoming a member.
And now for the shit part...
One of the rooms on this forum was a place where you could submit your writing to be reviewed by other writers, editors and readers alike. If you had the balls to do so, that is. I scrolled through comments posted for other pieces of work just to get a feel of how it all worked, and also to pluck up enough courage to offer my lamb for the slaughter. This was a great learning curve as I soon realised what to keep and what to discard as some feedback began with: "If this was my work, I would have started it like this..."
Those people were instantly put high on my list of ones to ignore, because, quite frankly, you didn't write it.
In this very same room, a certain presence roamed like a ghostly figure. You could compare them to to Keanu Reeves - genius, yet shrouded in secrecy. Rumour had it that this person had English degrees coming out of every orifice, and could quote Sol Stein's On Writing line by line. So every now and then (and let's refer to the person as he) he would pop in and make a comment on a certain piece of writing. Other than these appearances, he never spoke to anyone or socialised in chat rooms, as often is the case on a forum.
Totally unapproachable, everyone feared him, and I could only imagine how hearts must have sank when his avatar appeared under the comments section. As a perfectionist, he would lash out his wrath, which I later realised was due to his obsession to write perfect prose, bringing about an anger fueled by his own inability to finish a book that measured up to his standards.
But he was brilliant. He literally ripped your work apart, limb by limb, slapping you with the meaty end, yet always advised on how to put it back together based on language structure. And basic common sense.
So with me being me, I decided to wake the dragon by doing the unthinkable.
I need to know if my writing is crap or not and never shy away from constructive critism, so I sent him a direct message asking for a review of my work. Yes, I'm cheeky in that way.
A brave move, if your idea of thrill-seeking is trying to dodge a highway of cars at rush hour.
Absolutely outraged at the gall of me, he responded.
The result was akin to a scene from Natural Born Killers. There was blood everywhere. So much so that I think even Tarantino would have cringed. In fact, if I tilted my laptop to one side it would probably have oozed red commentry. Friends who had witnessed the war contacted me immeditely, offering support and assuring me that it was not the end.
But I loved it.
Down to every single red word, underline, and exclamation mark.
My plan had worked.
You see, I looked forward to the shit that would definitely rain down on me. I was covered in it, and it stank. Because I had followed his reviews for some time, I knew that his attack would sadisticly cut to the bone, but I also knew that his feedback would be the honest and brutal truth. I read it over and over and over again, making notes and carving it into my writing mind until I was assured it would remain permanently. He went the extra mile, and it was the best lesson I have ever had.
Funny enough, I have thought of provoking agents in the same way, but I don't think it would have the desired effect.
Yes, a pee nappy is far better than a toxic mess, but when they are that age it is important to monitor their stool frequency. It isn't as regular as clockwork. So by late afternoon and while changing him again, we made a pact that the only time I would put on a new nappy was if he had made a poo. He unfortunately did not uphold his end and when my wife got home, she frowned at me wondering why our son had suddenly picked up so much weight.
Just kidding, it wasn't that bad.
So, everytime he made even the slightest fart (some are trumpeted) during the night and this morning, I jumped up expecting a reward based on our agreement. I know this sounds strange, but I have never before looked forward to a shit nappy as today.
Then it happened. I was so excited I immediately messaged my wife. She knows I'm a nut so she merely replied with a smiling emoji. Afterwards, when my son offered a smile of relief, it reminded me of when I first started writing.
Once the writing bug had bitten, I searched the web far and wide for a writing forum I could join that didn't frown upon or make fun of newbies like me. One eventually stood out, so I subscribed. I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole to discover an entirely new and wonderful world. They sat me down and explained how everything worked, and also advised me on which animals to feed and not feed. In fact, I am still in contact with writing friends I met soon after becoming a member.
And now for the shit part...
One of the rooms on this forum was a place where you could submit your writing to be reviewed by other writers, editors and readers alike. If you had the balls to do so, that is. I scrolled through comments posted for other pieces of work just to get a feel of how it all worked, and also to pluck up enough courage to offer my lamb for the slaughter. This was a great learning curve as I soon realised what to keep and what to discard as some feedback began with: "If this was my work, I would have started it like this..."
Those people were instantly put high on my list of ones to ignore, because, quite frankly, you didn't write it.
In this very same room, a certain presence roamed like a ghostly figure. You could compare them to to Keanu Reeves - genius, yet shrouded in secrecy. Rumour had it that this person had English degrees coming out of every orifice, and could quote Sol Stein's On Writing line by line. So every now and then (and let's refer to the person as he) he would pop in and make a comment on a certain piece of writing. Other than these appearances, he never spoke to anyone or socialised in chat rooms, as often is the case on a forum.
Totally unapproachable, everyone feared him, and I could only imagine how hearts must have sank when his avatar appeared under the comments section. As a perfectionist, he would lash out his wrath, which I later realised was due to his obsession to write perfect prose, bringing about an anger fueled by his own inability to finish a book that measured up to his standards.
But he was brilliant. He literally ripped your work apart, limb by limb, slapping you with the meaty end, yet always advised on how to put it back together based on language structure. And basic common sense.
So with me being me, I decided to wake the dragon by doing the unthinkable.
I need to know if my writing is crap or not and never shy away from constructive critism, so I sent him a direct message asking for a review of my work. Yes, I'm cheeky in that way.
A brave move, if your idea of thrill-seeking is trying to dodge a highway of cars at rush hour.
Absolutely outraged at the gall of me, he responded.
The result was akin to a scene from Natural Born Killers. There was blood everywhere. So much so that I think even Tarantino would have cringed. In fact, if I tilted my laptop to one side it would probably have oozed red commentry. Friends who had witnessed the war contacted me immeditely, offering support and assuring me that it was not the end.
But I loved it.
Down to every single red word, underline, and exclamation mark.
My plan had worked.
You see, I looked forward to the shit that would definitely rain down on me. I was covered in it, and it stank. Because I had followed his reviews for some time, I knew that his attack would sadisticly cut to the bone, but I also knew that his feedback would be the honest and brutal truth. I read it over and over and over again, making notes and carving it into my writing mind until I was assured it would remain permanently. He went the extra mile, and it was the best lesson I have ever had.
Funny enough, I have thought of provoking agents in the same way, but I don't think it would have the desired effect.
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