On Writing 2,500 Words (without having a breakdown)

Once upon a time I had a bright idea. I pitched a story to Cleveland Magazine that I really, really, really, really wanted to write.

And they let me. And they gave me 2,500 words to do it.

Well, shit.

I am, what I like to say, is a “marketing writer.”  I can write. I legit can spell and figure out most grammar elements (em dashes and semicolons aside) and I champion the Oxford comma when given the chance AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS ABOUT IT. Sometimes I run things by my extra smart sister who is an encyclopedia of grammar rules. It comes in very handy. You should be jealous, honestly.

So I assumed they’d pat me on the head and let me write, like, a Q&A . Or maybe 750 words. No prob.

They gave me 2,500 words and I had to really dig deep. In my gut I knew I was capable…and I also knew what it would cost me.

On the backend of what felt like a Sisyphean task, I have had some time to reflect. Here is what I learned:

1. If I am writing. I am a writer and, to others I am a writer even if I don’t see it myself.
2. If someone with the title of editor edits my work, I don’t suck. That is their job—to make me better. I am thankful.
3. I am a better writer for next time because I stretched and made it through the valley of self-doubt.
4. Seeing my work in print (or online, I suppose) and having people enjoy it is worth the pain, tears and imposter syndrome.
5. I want to write more and now I really do think I could write that book I keep thinking about.

So…it is done.  Here it is, if you are so inclined. I mean, I am pretty proud. So yeah, go look at it. I kinda need you to go look at it.

Journaling has never been my thing. I want it to be my thing. But until I accept the idea of writing for me, not for accolades or attention, I will probably forgo this discipline. I guess I am hopeful that this blog will be some kind of writer’s purgatory…a place people can seek out if they choose, but also largely private because, let’s face it, I’m not Glennon Doyle and no one is hanging on my words to make life decisions.

I once told a friend of mine that releasing a story (or a creative work)  into the world was like giving birth. Like, your baby is in the canal…and it is so close. You think about holding it in. You are afraid of what that baby will be like and you aren’t ready to let anyone judge it. You want to keep the thing precious and protected.

It’s funny to me that when it comes to the podcast, I don’t give my work a second thought. I just do it and expect it to be good, you know?

Is that weird?