Some of you may not realize that I publish a biweekly newsletter for young writers called WritingKid. It lists a guest article and ten markets for young people to enter or submit to. I pay the guest writers, most of them children, some of them parents and teachers who understand the plight of young anxious writers. Often these young people are not taken seriously. Sure, they can be angst ridden and whimsically trying out the craft of writing to find a means of expression, but don’t we all go through that at some time? No matter our age? Heck, I was 44 when I picked my pen back up and returned to writing, enduring the composition of emotional dribble as I sought my voice.

This piece below, from seventeen-year-old Maureen Tanafon, struck home with me. As readers, and sometimes as pompous, envious, or novice writers, we tend to ride others hard, underestimate them, chastise their work a little too harshly not realizing there’s a human being on the other end who is fighting against not only editors and readers, but also herself.

There’s a person on the other end of those words.

So I begged Maureen to let me express her thoughts here on my blog as well as in WritingKid to young writers . . . to old writers . . . to all writers. To teachers, mentors, and librarians.To anyone who has tried to write, as well as to anyone who’s read a story and loved or hated it. To nonwriters who know writers, and don’t know what to say to them. To families of writers. To their friends.

There’s a person on the other end of those words. He or she tried very hard, pouring weeks, months or years into that piece you just read. It might not suit you, or you may think it droll, but do you have to rip it up because it isn’t your cup of tea? He might be just starting his writing journey, or hit a rough patch . . . or it’s good and you don’t happen to be one of the people who recognizes that.

I’m a believer in reviews. However, if I cannot give a good review, I give no review. Just because I didn’t enjoy a piece doesn’t mean my taste dominates. I’m not a Barbara Kingsolver fan, which in some circles is blasphemy, but it is what it is. However, I don’t go around bashing the woman’s work. Her success shows her worth.

Just because I didn’t enjoy a piece doesn’t mean my taste dominates.

When you’re holding a book or even a short story in your hands, take a second to imagine the author on the other end who struggled to get the words right. The author who worked into the night, early in the morning, between jobs, to compose a good story that would please you. When somebody gives you a gift, and you don’t like it, do you bash him for his effort?

Thanks, Maureen. Your young viewpoint touched my heart, and I wanted to share your lesson, a very adult lesson, to as many people as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just A Few Words

By Maureen Tanafon

You never know what words might touch you.

You never know what words of yours might touch others.

Recently, on the site Hands Free Mama, I was touched deeply and painfully by one of the articles. It was upon the subject of not missing the chance to know your children; and because my relationship with my own mother has been so broken and difficult, it tore me apart emotionally to read it – a mother speaking with such loving tenderness of her daughter.

I wrote a rambling comment – like many writers, I have issues with restricting myself to small spaces – about myself, my mother, and (among other things) how she had negatively impacted my writing. Without even meaning to, with a few words, my mother destroyed my drive to write for years at a time. There were plenty of other things I said; but the matter of writing, of how I had been harmed there, was a central issue. Writing is life to me, and I was still deeply bitter and insecure about it. Even as I hit the ‘post comment’ button I was bracing myself, imagining how stupid everyone would think me.

Instead, I found a reply showing up within half an hour. Rachel Stafford, the wonderful woman who runs Hands-Free Mama, wrote back with the most compassionate words anyone has ever given to me. She gave me sympathy, told me that I was insightful and wise – but one line stood out among the rest, made me stop and stare at it.

“I was only a few sentences into your comment when I said to myself, ‘This young lady is a writer. You are a writer. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

This young lady is a writer.

I burst into tears. I grinned like an idiot. I wrote the words down in colored pencil and put it on my bookshelf. A few words. That’s all it takes to give writing a severe blow – or to give the desire to write a new, passionate strength.

You could be the one to give those few words. Rachel told me to remember that words had the power to inspire; that you never know when what you’re saying is exactly the right thing at exactly the right time for someone. And she’s right. Remember that every time someone tells you your writing isn’t important, or the doubtful voice in your head tells you it won’t matter.

Because guess what?

You’re a writer.

And so is this young lady.

BIO

Maureen Tanafon is a seventeen-year-old writer living in New England, where all the monsters come from. She is almost, definitely, practically finished on the first draft of her first complete book, and has many, many more planned out. She is vaguely pleased by referring to herself in the third person. While not writing you can usually find her drawing, renovating her room, or thinking about writing.

—

Rock on, Maureen!

Saw where a friend was invited to a great speaking engagement for her book. She’d worked hard promoting her book, and her success thrilled me. But a tiny piece of me was jealous, wishing I’d been in her shoes.

Saw where another acquaintance landed a book contract with a New York publisher, and she was over the moon excited. Another author acquired a new agent with a highly reputable literary agency. Yet another won an award I’ve always craved. I was happy for all, and sent them messages accordingly.

By now, I wasn’t jealous. I was depressed. And I was ashamed I’d felt either emotion. Which made me sad. Now my evening was really bummed. I was disgusted at myself.

Writers work their butts off. We are some of the hardest working, least recognized, most overlooked professionals in the universe. We stoop over keyboards typing, deleting, retyping, cursing, getting up, then coming back, still hunting for the write phrase.Then we market the best ways we can, reaching out to whomever we can, letting people know what our writing has meaning. Praying someone notices. Ecstatic when it isn’t rejected.

Then someone promotes better than we do, making record sales.

Someone wins awards we didn’t know existed.

Someone sells a story idea we knew would be good, if we could have found a publisher.

Someone creates a gorgeous website we wish we could afford.

Someone manages a daily blog we’d never have the time to master. How the heck does he come up with so many ideas anyway?

Someone has a spouse to pay the bills while she writes, while we can’t afford to write full-time.

Some days we float on words that make perfect sense. Our writers group sings our praises on Wednesday night, calling the piece our best work. Maybe an email says we write beautifully, and the reader stayed up all night finishing the book. An editor calls, saying she’ll drop a contract in the mail for a piece we pitched six months ago, and actually pay us for the article. A new five-star review on Amazon.We ride so high, understanding now why we became writers.

So, so high.

And on other days we feel we’re doing everything wrong.

Every single, solitary writer on the planet has had a day of doubt. Some have weeks. Some profess more. Those are the days that test you. Those are the times that force some writers to walk away and some to show their fangs in blame of others for the day’s lack of productivity, lack of acknowledgement.

Lack of love.

All that success happening around us, and none of it ours. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

Let yourself be down. Eat your tub of ice cream and watch a tear-jerker movie.  Wallow in self-pity for a while, long enough to get over yourself. Take a nap or go to bed. Kill your pillow.

Then get up, go to your words, and put them together again. Dabble at your craft and enjoy turning phrases. Ditch all the ill-will back in the recliner where you called yourself a horrible writer, and come out to play. Remember why you write. Shiver at a great sentence. Read a paragraph aloud to a good friend. Spin stories in your head while you go through the day. Keep coming back. One word in front of the other. Keep coming back. Good day or bad, keep coming back.

Because one day success will blow by, and stop to kiss you, too.

Sadness or, in general, melancholy, gets a bad rap. We need to be melancholy. It fulfills us. It gives happy and satisfied new meaning, because without the down side to make us tackle issues, we do not grow.

My family calls me moody. One son in particular claims I lead the family pack in moodiness. I own it, and I also know that in the evenings, I’m moodier than in the morning. And occasionally I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m trying to accomplish being a writer.

 Second guessing ourselves makes us dig deep and put meaning to our efforts.

Author and psychologist Dr. Carolyn Kaufman recently woke up going blind. For most of the day, her sight deteriorated until she landed in the ER, almost hysterical, worried her sight was compromised forever. This interesting moment in her life had The Writer, as she puts it, pinging off her senses, taking it all in, thinking about how to incorporate the experience into her profession. You can read the entire experience here.

But hers was a sudden onset event, the lesson a quick one, though at the time I imagine she didn’t consider it so fast. Melancholy is slower, longer term.

There’s no doubt in my mind that melancholy was a part of Thoreau’s being as he sought revelation via Walden. He was obviously disappointed with his life and sought answers in the woods. I so get that!

 With all that happens in the world, some days I hate being a human being!

 People react so nastily at times. And sometimes health issues, economic woes, family disappointment and career shortfalls just happen, and we take it all on ourselves . . . thinking how unfair life can be.

 ”Who hasn’t asked, “Why me?”

Sure, those ominous times chill our souls, but stop and ponder this.

1) The Writer in us can gain so much from these experiences, these depth of feelings, and

2) The human in us can weather the pain better recognizing these experiences as growth, even opportunity, as we take notes, giving us something to do, to carry us through the agony.

“Joy is the polar opposite of melancholy. You can’t have one without the other.”

The above quote comes from Wake Forest University English professor Eric G. Wilson who recently penned Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy, and was interviewed for The Smithsonian Magazine. I was intrigued. He expresses that we need to be in touch with our inner self, pondering why we don’t like the way things are. At the same time, melancholy forces us to study the whys and hows in order to seek contentment. When we are content, we don’t feel the need to hunt for change.

My interpretation is this: Still water has no need to move. 

We need change and shake up to rattle the senses and draw upon our hidden talents. . . in writing especially. So the next time you crawl into bed, turn the TV off to evade too much bad news, or ponder your purpose in life after seeing others performing so well, let your melancholy accompany you. Take notes. Why do you feel this way? What would make you feel better? What can you do about it? How can you record this path you’re on . . . and the way out of your dilemma?

Stir the juices, with a dash of tears. Mope, hug yourself, feel sorry, eat the tub of ice cream, but make time to think hard about your lot in life at the moment. From such is born pivotal moments.

“I wonder if we continue to try to get rid of melancholy entirely, will we eventually be a culture that can’t create a Keats or a Melville?”

~Eric G. Wilson

As a fairly reclusive individual, and one painfully aware of crowds, I’m constantly on a quest to find peace. Once I find tools for inner peace, I fight hard to  maintain them. Those tools give me confidence, and when making appearances, I grip those tools like a life preserver on a sinking ship.

In the last post I spoke about keeping up with the government environment that used to be so instilled in me. Today, I talk about zen living. I have a yoga friend who I greatly admire, who is so grounded and so aware of her surroundings that her calm flows out to all those around her. She has an endless array of friends, some that would drive me bat-crazy, but she manages to rein them all into her peace. And they all want to be like her.

One of my favorite websites with great lessons on good living is DailyGood.  It is one of the very few websites out there that can make me slow down and just enjoy the reading. I walk away with so much that makes my life feel better.

An archived piece entitled “15 Things You Should Give Up to be Happy” is my gift to you today. It’s just marvelous, and I swear, I’m going to incorporate this mentality in my writing somehow . . . as a minimum in one of my conferences speeches.

1. Give up your need to always be right.

2. Give up your need for control.

3. Give up on blame.

4. Give up on self-defeating self-talk.

5. Give up your limiting beliefs.

6. Give up complaining.

7. Give up the luxury of criticism.

8. Give up your need to impress others.

9. Give up your resistance to change.

10. Give up labels.

11. Give up on your fears.

12. Give up excuses.

13. Give up the past.

14. Give up attachment.

15. Give up living your life to other people’s expectations.

You can feel the burdens lift off your shoulders just reading the list, can’t you? When we aren’t so stubborn, we feel better. When we’re more open, we feel better. Somehow I can’t help but think that we’d write better, too.

If you’ve seen me speak, you will notice that I start a little shy then build momentum as I get wrapped up in what I have to say. People seem to enjoy my talks, and I always strive to be worthy of every attendee in the audience. After all, just like when someone buys my book to spend hours reading, these people took time out of their day to hear me speak. But it’s not easy for me because I prefer the solitude of my study.

But I’ve learned along the way that writers need a certain degree of people skills to make this business work. Out of all the speakers at a recent conference I attended, only one could be  labeled extrovert, and she was a professional public speaker teaching . . . wait for it . . . how to speak in public.

Writers eventually must confront people. Yes, that’s how most perceive it . . . confronting. Not that they dislike people, it’s just they perform best without a crowd. Bear with them. They are trying.

I recently read a piece entitled “10 People Skills Every Government Employee Should Have.” Having spent 25 years with the feds, most of it as some level of manager, I am nerdy enough to still read material about that environment. As I studied each skill on the list, I realized these apply to writers who have to crawl out of their holes to sell books, speak to crowds, attend critique groups and conferences, deal with bookstores, or address agents, publishers and editors. See if you’ve mastered this list of people skills, and which might need more of your attention. I’ve combined some since they are closely akin:

1. Openmindedness / Tolerance

Not everyone will love our writing, style, dress, characters, or home state/country. Many people judge too quickly. Be the person in the room who doesn’t pass judgment so quickly, and is willing to entertain what others have to say. We often have to utilize this one in chat rooms and on listservs where anonymity or distance empowers some people to express their views.

2. Listening

Introverts are amazing listeners, so you might have this trait down pat. Just remember that every person has a right to be heard . . . at least for a few moments. Being a good listener often gets perceived as being smart, and as a minimum, polite.

3. Empathy

Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. We often fail to use empathy when we are rejected, or someone leaves a poor review of our work. Be empathetic and you are more likely to retain a fan or acquire an editor for a future project.

4.Self-Awareness

We might be overly aware of ourselves, but take it a step further. Understand what makes you behave the way you do so you prevent yourself from overreacting, getting worked up, or becoming frustrated. Have personal adjustment tools at the ready.

5. Patience

This business is anything but high-paced. Accept it. Others won’t respond as quickly as we’d like. We often forget that they have more to do than serve our needs.

6. Stress Management

Writing is actually a low-stress profession. Whatever stress happens, we bring on ourselves. Just remember that. Have skills in place to chill when you don’t think things are occurring as you would prefer.

7. Leadership

But we work for ourselves, right? None of us works in a bubble. Even in a forum as simple as Facebook, you can recognize leaders and followers. Leaders are motivators, and you want that skill in your portfolio.

8. Negotiation Skills

Why do you think writers love agents? Why do you think many self-publish instead of traditionally publish? One of the key reasons of both is so the writer doesn’t have to negotiate terms. You can’t dodge it forever. Sooner or later you’ll have to discuss options with someone, with the hope of getting your way . . . especially if you decide to freelance and take on clients.

9. Courtesy

Negative behavior doesn’t compliment anyone. We can brag about getting our way or overcoming someone’s pig-headed stance, but if we aren’t courteous in the process, we aren’t very likeable. This is one of the most important skills of all.

What people skill do you need to work on? Or what skill do you think is missing from the list?

I was reading a blog this week about rejection. There seemed to be a rash of them covering this topic this week, so I guess a few writers got slammed and felt the need to do something proactive in response. That’s when it hit me . . . the best answer to a negative is a positive. Rather than wallow in our tears, we can jump up and write . . . something . . . and keep moving forward. My kind of living!

I get the whole be-proactive-to-stay-sane mentality.

Especially if you’re being rejected for longer projects, like novels or nonfiction books, you might need an infusion of something with a quick rebound. Contact a magazine you’ve published for and pitch something that’s practically a sure thing. Hammer out a wonderful blog post, or guest blog post. Find a contest or two.

What can you turn around and write when rejection’s knocked you down?

1. Blog posts

2. Contest entries

3. Writing prompts

4. Journals

5. Short stories

6. Magazine features

7. Newsletter editorial

8. Any work in progress

Okay, great. But one poster I read suggested to take your writing, put it together into an e-book, and publish the dang thing. Sell it on Smashwords, Kindle or Nook. Say what??

I get the whole be-proactive-to-stay-sane mentality. But do you want to take what hasn’t published, or been rejected, or been quickly written, and shoot it into the world as representative of your writing prowess? Are you really sure you want that to be your legacy?

There are lots of reasons to publish an e-book, but in retaliation to rejection isn’t one of them.

While legacy might be a bit exaggerated, still . . . what you put out there stays forever. Today you want to jump on that e-book bandwagon, but two years from now, when your dream project comes to life in a publisher’s hands, do you want Goodreads, Google, Amazon and everyone else out there to see that ebook you published because you were pissed, or as a minimum, were too impatient to wait for validation?

There are lots of reasons to publish an e-book, but in retaliation to rejection isn’t one of them. If you indeed publish an e-book, make sure it’s with a sound mind, level thinking, and a promotion plan to make it aid your writing career and propel your reputation one step further. Quick publication sounds great, but once it’s done, you can’t take it back. And the public’s rejection of that knee-jerk effort on your part might be even more painful than the original rejections that prompted the whole ordeal.

There will be bad days as writer, just like there are bad days in anything else. I just had one, and I started not to write this post because I recognized the symptoms in my own behavior. Sometimes, the day is cloudy, and my mood is gray. You know how that is.

I received no replies to a couple of blog posts I enjoyed writing – a disappointment. I received no new book reviews. A nonfiction project isn’t flowing. My main beta reader is on a month-long vacation.  My agent is out of touch as is my editor, so of course I wonder if I’ve done something wrong or if they’re just busy. I’m a fixer, so when situations are out of my hands, I am not a happy camper. Proactive is my middle name. Patience . . . not so much.

I’m overly tired, and I’d rather curl up with a book and an ice cream cone, then crawl into bed early.

On these days, I know better than to tackle something that takes much creative energy. I’m overly tired, and I’d rather curl up with a book and an ice cream cone, then crawl into bed early (pre-two AM).

On those days I do not want to write . . . anything. Why risk inserting those pitiful feelings into my prose? But frankly, I need to write, even a little bit. It’s during these moments that I teach myself to buckle down and keep going. Because if I don’t stay busy, the “what-ifs” haunt me. I can over-think something to death!

What if my book isn’t selling as well as the editor wishes?

What if my agent isn’t happy with my performance and is afraid to tell me?

What if my second book isn’t as well received as my first?

What if readers are tired of my editorials in FundsforWriters?

What if I can’t find that twist at the end of book three?

What if I’m not the writer I think I am?

What if I’m a fraud?

Silliness. I know. But I’m letting you know that everyone . . . every last single one of us . . . has one of those days. And it’s normal. It’s okay. Write a few words to prove that nothing will stop you from writing (you’ll appreciate yourself in the morning if you do), then go get your book and ice cream. Be gentle to yourself on those days . . . after you’ve put a few words on paper. Prove that nothing gets in the way of you and your writing. Even yourself.

Enjoy this little video . . . especially if you’ve had a hard day.  *smile*

Most writers are afraid of themselves. They seek validation from others: fellow writers, Facebook friends, Tweeters, editors, agents, and publishers. I admit, I open my email each day hoping to glean positive comments from readers . . . to make me feel good about myself and the lot I’ve chosen in life.

That’s why rejection drops us to our knees . . . we rely on others to tell us we’re right/good/funny/fill-in-the-blank.

The blog Write to Done has some remarkable posts. Recently they did one on criticism. Five Steps Towards Making Peace with Criticism. In general, we should accept the fact we aren’t perfect, or even good, especially when we are starting. Ever notice kids? They’re eager to learn? They make mistakes, anxious for you to tell them what they did wrong so they can get it right! They are open to failure because they know it’s on the path to success.

Be strong. Pick and choose what you learn. That’s a huge mistake of writers in critique groups. They accept everything as gospel or get too defensive that they were critiqued to start with. Welcome feedback, then be selective. It’s the criticism that’s important.

Feedback from anybody, learned or ignorant, seasoned or novice, editor or reader, is to be filtered and not taken personally. You can be a green-as-a-gourd writer who can’t match nouns and verbs and yet still be a confident individual. The power of ourselves should not be affected by the level of our writing.

If your writing isn’t working, and others tell you it stinks, remember . . . it isn’t about who you are. It’s about what you’re delivering . . . and that is totally in your hands to fix.

I walk away from many writing events exhilarated . . . at other times crushed. And it scares the be-Jeesus out of me not knowing which emotion will rule me when I finish and leave.

And it frustrates the hell out of me being so uncertain of myself.

Each time I step behind a podium, a mic, even a telephone if the interview is long-distance, I have a plan, a rehearsed plan. I have passion, no doubt about that. I’m doing what I love to do, often wishing there were more hours in the day so I could do more, perform better, deliver more profoundly to those I hope to serve. Write more.

There aren’t enough hours, days, or years to complete the stories I wish to write, or deliver my passion to the world to such a a degree that everybody I touch “gets it.” I find that so important . . . passion. It pains me when I don’t connect, and it pains me more to see writers going through the motions instead of jumping, dancing arms wide, being writers with something to say, wanting people to read their work so badly that they sometimes make fools of themselves. I would rather buy a book or read an article from somebody who trips on his feet, stumbles his words, or mixes a metaphor, and then laughs at himself, than I would the person who stoically follows the rules, shows the way to their book, then leaves the room, leaving nothing of themselves behind.

However, I think the worst pain of all to a writer is silence.

The silence of no questions from the room. The silence of no comments on a blog post. The silence of no ReTweets. The lack of likes on Facebook. The lack of reviews. Less than stellar sales. We all know some of these.  Hopefully nobody knows them all. That’s sad when you try and wait . . . and are left waiting. Maybe that’s why some leave quickly, stoically, afraid to see nobody has questions.

Such silence can make a writer choke on self-doubt, even shove them toward quitting. Why do writers feel ashamed when others don’t read them? It’s failure on an extremely high level, and we often quietly “disappear into that good night.”

We’d rather be rejected, have something  proactively to address, gnaw on, or refute. Even booing is a response. Give us a bone, for God’s sake.

But that silence . . . oh God that silence.

Writing should be my voice, the page my podium.

But it’s not. Not in this world where noise is required before you can be seen and then make your point. So just remember this:

== When you read a book, write a review . . . somewhere. Leave your thank you for the writer who dared expose his heart and oh-so-sensitive soul to you.

==When you read a blog post that is smart, touching, witty, or informative, leave a comment. Or forward it, Tweet it, FB mention it. Again, thank the person for daring to show personality to a very critical world.

==When you hear a writer speak, watch him, follow him, then clap madly at the end. Ask a question, just so he knows you listened. Thank him for being there . . . for being him . . . for giving to you.

Some may wonder what’s brought such a melancholy post, but the fact is, I’m writing for so many who’ve confided in me about one of these points or another. Maybe the latest email just pushed me far enough. So many silently hurt, almost physically, at the platform effort, dog-and-pony show we’re forced to endure, even if only online.

I want to tell them to DARE!

I want to tell them to APPRECIATE DARING in others!

I want people to feel better, try with passion, and know that every time they receive silence in response to their effort, thousands others understand. Keep trying.

Dare NOT to be silent, no matter which side of the podium you’re on. Appreciate each other. The passion, talent, and success spewed into the world would be astounding.

This writing thing can be a first-class b–ch as well as heaven on earth. Writers grow in stages, many falling by the wayside when they ignore the fact they have to pay a few dues.

Just deciding to write is not easy. Not when faced with a job, family, and other pre-existing obligations. But you go ahead and decide, and you feel all cozy about yourself. Good. It’s the first step on a long journey, but you took it. Yay you!

But no new writer writes well. Your family and friends might like your work. They do not count . . . at all. You must educate yourself through formal education, an endless assortment of self-help and how-to efforts, and mentors. You must hone grammar, syntax, story arc development, dialogue, setting, and characterization–not just know what it is. You must be able to recognize writing that has a good grasp of each topic, then you practice it until you hate it. Then you practice it again. Then you practice it again. You practice it so many times you have to remind yourself why you’re being so anal about it. You almost want to quit. You think nobody will appreciate going the extra mile.

You want total strangers to like your work. Strangers who know how to write, edit, and make a living with words.That means you have a voice and know how to use it. If you aren’t sure what your voice is, you haven’t found it. So keep practicing, learning, writing, tossing, deleting, and rewriting. Enter contests, join critique groups, hire editors.

A journalist friend ate lunch with me recently, and she mentioned how hard she was trying to learn how to write fiction. I asked what she’d done. She hadn’t written a word. Instead, she was studying how to outline, how to flesh out characters, how to do a story arc, and so on. She was researching and setting herself up, getting all her tools in place to get started. Not writing. I looked her in the eye and said, “Just write. Pick a good scene and start the book.”

“I know,” she said, but we’d had this conversation before, so I wasn’t sure she really did know.

“Write that story,” I said. “Then when you get to chapter 33 or whatever the final chapter is, read the book over. You’ll realize it stinks. Throw it away.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, I could never do that.”

“Why not? By the time you get to that final chapter, especially on a first time novel, your writing will have grown so far that chapter one is nowhere near the caliber of that last chapter. You’ll do major rewrites anyway. Keep a hard copy for posterity, but start over with nothing more than an outline. You’ll realize after the next rewrite that you’ve once again outgrown chapter one. You may not throw it away then, but you do some serious cutting and readjustment. Over and over . . . until you realize a voice has surfaced and chapter one isn’t much different than the last one. And you do from beginning to end as many times as it takes, exorcising all the silly little demons in your work.”

She winced, scrunched her nose and shook her head again. “Nope, I’ll never throw it away.”

I sighed. All she’d heard was the part about throwing away the first draft.

When you cook, you wash each utensil and bowl thoroughly, because to leave a remnant of an ingredient behind could be what destroys your next recipe. Culling the crap is necessary. You don’t season it with sugar or salt to make it palatable or sprinkle almond extract or lemon oil on it to reduce the stink. You throw it away.

Vow to be great, however long it takes. You will so love yourself more. Vow to be superb.