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Don’t Take it Personally
Lately I’ve been writing for another blog periodically, and had some success. Recently, however, I’ve had a couple of pieces turned down. It was disheartening and discouraging. I mean, I’ve been writing for a long time—what was I missing?
I realized that my initial reaction was due to my fragile ego: wasn’t I good enough? Or was my mind starting to go at 75 years old? Was I not focusing enough? Was I not creative enough?
After I stopped beating myself up, giving my ego time to recover and taking time to reflect on the refusals, I realized that I was receiving some very helpful and productive lessons.
First of all, I’m not perfect—imagine! I have good days and bad ones; I don’t pay as much attention to what I’m saying sometimes, and to how I’m organizing my work. In other words, I can get sloppy.
Second, I can’t assume that the editors, who are mostly very kind, will always appreciate what I have to say. And they get to decide what their readership wants to read—not me.
Third, the fact is that I am getting older. I have more limitations in my physical body and in my stamina. It wouldn’t be surprising if I started to miss a step intellectually. My husband would tell you that I’ve become more absent-minded, but then so has he; thank goodness we are back-ups for each other! I don’t know if my writing isn’t as good or as focused or as organized or as creative as it used to be, but that’s life unfolding.
What I do know is I can try to make sure that I’m rested and focused when I sit down to write. I need to check how invested I am in my topic, so that my commitment and passion show through.
I decided to write this post, partly for myself, but partly for those of you who write on Ricochet or are thinking about it. I’ve learned over the years that it’s nearly impossible to know if a post will get a lot of views or likes. But for the most part, I don’t think it’s “personal.” That doesn’t mean some people on the site don’t like me or my writing; I’m certain there are a few. And that’s fine! People can traverse Ricochet and look for their favorite writers, and ignore those that they don’t like. No one is keeping score. And if a post doesn’t get a lot of “likes,” that outcome is not necessarily a reflection on your writing. Or on you.
The beauty of Ricochet is that anyone can post here, whenever they want, and people can read your posts if and when they want. You may even have a conversation with them.
But if the response is small, keep one thing in mind:
Don’t take it personally. And keep writing.
Published in General
Exactly. Oftentimes it’s just that a particular topic doesn’t “catch on”. Even otherwise interesting topics lose out when events are focusing us in other directions. How many authors’ works are only very much later appreciated? Answer: https://listverse.com/2015/01/11/10-great-books-that-were-not-appreciated-during-their-time/
What a fascinating list! It does put things in perspective. Thanks, Rodin
Thanks Susan! It is very hard not to take a lack of likes or comments personally. Many times I thought about leaving the site or not posting again. But then, like you, I had to remind myself that conservatives are against participation trophies. And that makes likes and comments a bit sweeter knowing that they are not always bestowed.
What a great way to put it, GC! Thanks!
And sometimes the original poster does so well that there’s nothing more to be said.
It is a cold fact of nature that the number of Likes a post gets are an objective, reliable intelligence test.
Rather than feel despondent when a post gets no Likes, I try to focus on the bright side. Perhaps my next post will be upon a subject concerning which my readers have more intelligence.
I was going to suggest the same. Sort of like Rush used to say.
I spent quite a bit of my professional life explaining to engineers and scientists that their employer company’s decision not to patent their invention was not usually a reflection of the technological merits of their invention. The decision whether to patent was more often driven by factors like market presence, prospective competitors, marketing strategy, and other factors other than the strict technical merits of the invention. (A patent is legal protection provided by the government on significant technological innovations. A patent allows the owner of the patent to prevent others from making, using, or selling products incorporating the patented technological invention.)
Inventors, like writers, tend to see their technological creations as their babies, and think every one of them is worthy of patent protection. But, for the inventor’s employer, seeking and obtaining patent protection is expensive and time consuming. The decision to do so is often driven by factors other than the technology itself.
So I kept reassuring company engineers and scientists not to be discouraged, and to keep inventing. Their patent count is not the only measure of their technological capability, nor of the value of their contribution to their employer.
What a great example, FST! Yes, writing and inventing have much in common. I know I’m very attached to my pieces, and I’m working at trying to get some emotional distance. It’s an ongoing learning experience!
I often thought of things that Rush hadn’t said.
I hear you, Sister. I have written some clever stuff that almost no one has noticed, and I have gotten numerous Likes on posts and comments that I thought were nothing special. Rob Long has often talked about the absolute unpredictability of which TV shows or movies will be a hit and which will flop.
Other than stating that any success is an accident.
I always take it personally, but as a spur to improve what I am doing and where I am doing it. I have no sense of entitlement in these matters, I am free to write and editors are free to edit.
I spent some time writing short stories that kindly editors spared me the embarrassment of having published. Some of them earned thoughtful, hand typed responses of some length from well regarded editors. And then I had my first child and with that way to many interruptions to focus for hours at a time on the written page. So that was that.
Keep posting and commenting. You’ve written interesting things.
There are a lot of benefits to writing and posting/submitting. Sometimes the act of writing helps you to think more clearly about something. Sometimes it helps your readers think more clearly (or at least evaluate an alternative idea). Sometimes you get the kudos of likes or an editor’s affirmative. It’s hard to keep on writing when it seems no one gives you a like, but there are many reasons to do it anyway.
I had the privilege of sitting on an Invention Review Board for a number of years, as well as being granted a few patents. How to write the submission is a bit of an art form, and yes, persistence is huge!
One thing I particularly appreciate about Ricochet is the member-fred-only switch. I can say something that I am pretty sure would be taken amiss by the wider world, or only want to share with friends, and it stays right here. I can handle criticism from you guys because I respect you, because you paid to be here, and because the conversation is moderated. That’s a reasonably safe space, and I’m glad to have it.
Facebook is only good for promoting audiobooks and keeping in touch with some far flung family that seems to find it easy to post eay more than they should. I never engage in serious discussions there. I suppose I should take a look at Twitter/X some day but it doesn’t seem worth the time. Insufficient cat memes.
Susan, I have been keeping an eye out for your stuff on American Thinker. I check it daily for Clarice Feldman stuff, and that piece by Thomas Lifson last week was a must-read. But some of what I see there seems in tinfoil hat category. Not enough to be off-putting but the grain of salt should always be nearby.
That’s an interesting observation, Doug. I agree–the Lifson post was so moving. And some of the posts might be in the “tinfoil” category. I really do love posting on Rico; you guys are my friends, and I’m so grateful for the relationships. On AT, I’m not sure if I’ll ever have a “following”; first, I rarely post more than one or two times per week, so people might not “look” for me. But also, they have some “rules” that aren’t always easy to follow–like they frown on posts that criticize Trump. But still, it’s a good discipline to get feedback from real editors, and to have to meet their expectations.
I often find that the number of likes for my posts is inversely proportional to the sheer genius of the content. Could it be that the self-perception of my courage and insight to say what needs to be said was actually a mere outpouring of idiosyncrasy? Perish the thought!
Another fan of Clarice’s Pieces?
Absolutely. First thing I read on Sunday morning.
I’m with @randyweivoda – it’s a mystery to me what might resonate and what will not. I have given up trying to predict.
I’ve lost count of the times that, at the end of writing a piece, I was overcome by the sense that no one but I could possibly be interested in this. I have held my nose and clicked “Publish” only to discover (rediscover?) that I am not alone. I also find that some of my favorite posts are things the entire world is indifferent to. I think I have finally reached a point where whenever a post generates the sound of crickets in response, it actually gives me a chuckle. I picture various readers, sitting there with confused looks on their faces, wondering what possessed the writer to produce such uninteresting prose. There’s something about that picture that makes me chuckle. I’m laughing with them, not at them.
I find myself drawn to writing as an exercising in truth telling. Not in the sense that I myself have some kind of elevated grasp of the truth. But in the sense of putting down words that honestly reflect my true thoughts on a subject. I have learned, as no doubt others here have learned, that this can be a weighty undertaking and, in some cases, more than a little intimidating.
And I remind myself of Flannery O’Connor’s perspective on writing, expressed in a letter to a friend, if I recall correctly:
Amen.
The old Mohammed and the mountain scenario.