An Ode to my Inability to Accept Praise

Author’s Note: I originally intended to submit this for the Ode to the Ordinary challenge, but then I realized my thoughts would likely refuse to confine themselves to verses. Plus, by the time this topic came to me, there was about 10 hours left in the challenge, and while I certainly have “made it happen” time and again when the chips were down, I prefer not to rush my writing.

So here’s my “ode but not an ode” on why it takes me so damn long to respond to your comments.

Some Context

I grew up as a writer in the “traditional world” of fiction writing. What do I mean by that? In its barest essence:

• I write a piece
• I send it out to publishers
• I wait for the far-off day when a publisher finally takes it
• That day finally comes‼️*
• The piece gets published
• Repeat

*Results may vary

Now compare that with what I term the “modern world” of fiction writing:

• I write a piece
• I publish it on a platform (e.g. this one)
• Others react to it immediately*
• Repeat

*Results may vary

Did you spot the difference? Besides the fact that the traditional world is gatekept, which comes with its own cost/benefits, there’s an immediate feedback loop in this modern writing environment that didn’t quite exist before.

Which isn’t to say no one has ever reacted to one of the stories I’ve published in that traditional setup. My de facto editor is chalk full of good ideas, praise, and suggestions for improvement (♥️ you, Bri Craig). Sometimes the editors at these publications will share their thoughts, whether they loved it or hated it. Later on, a friend might read the piece and talk to me about it. Theoretically, a critic might someday find my work and write a review*.

*Keep dreaming, buddy

Sidebar: Want to see me get absolutely dragged by some of these magazine editors? I did an inventory of years of writing responses and cherrypicked the juiciest ones for you:

Point being, there is a huge difference between a few disparate reactions to a piece I publish in print versus relative strangers finding my piece and sharing their thoughts. I was used to releasing a piece into the world and being met with silence.

Silence sounds negative, but I didn’t view it that way. I describe myself as a “checkbox person”: complete the task, move to the next task. Save reflection for another time, we’ve got stories to write!

So this whole second act where I’m getting notifications that folks have read my post and are now reacting to it throws me through a loop. That’s not part of the system‼️

Okay, So What Are You Doing Here?

Fair question.

June 2021: I was scrolling my way through Facebook when I came across an ad: $20,000 grand prize for a post-apocalyptic story containing a locket.

“Goddamn,” I said, “with a prize pot that big, there’s almost no way, but on the slimmest of chances I do win...”

That’s a pretty apt summary of my experience with this platform. I have described myself as a “Vocal mercenary” chasing after challenge wins. I know I’m not alone in that general stance, but upwards of 90% of my content on here is challenge entries.

Sidebar: But that doesn’t mean I consider the content I’ve published here inferior to my other writing. In fact, one of the finest horror stories I’ve written to date was in direct response to a Vocal challenge. Not sure I would have even had this idea without their prompt with which to produce my own unique and terrifying interpretation of an aquarium (hint, hint to those interested).

And for a while, the traditional system recreated itself on Vocal. I wrote, I submitted, I sighed when I didn’t win, onto the next challenge. Nowhere in that cycle did external reactions enter the equation (to be fair, the only engagement tool that existed at the start of my time was the venerable ♥️). Every once in a while, I might get a comment or two. Easily manageable.

Then this perfect equilibrium I had achieved all fell to pieces.

You People Ruined It

There I was, happily flying under the radar and racking up a few Runner-Up ribbons in the process.

Bonus, two of those Runner-Up placements came from a short story series I was writing using the challenges as prompts, so that was awesome to see my character get recognized twice.

I was fairly satisfied with my experience on Vocal, and as my free one-year subscription would soon run out, I started to look toward the future. A Vocal-free future.

But, uh, obviously that didn’t quite pan out.

What changed? I kept seeing challenges I liked, enough that I would say “One more month won’t hurt.” Plus, I had started up a new series, and I had found such success repurposing the prompts into installments for my previous series that I decided to let it ride.

One of those challenges was the Painted Prose challenge. As soon as I read that prompt, I knew what painting I was choosing. One that I had seen in person and had never forgotten.

Thus, instead of putting Dick Winchester (the protagonist of the current series) on a 17th-century Dutch ship of the line, I decided to draw on my roots as someone whose dad saw sailing as a primary bonding method and who had read multiple British naval adventure novels. So, I put my sailing lingo to the test.

And, well, I guess it worked.

Then the tide began to rise (😉).

I hammered out “The Rocks” one afternoon, proofread it that evening, and shipped it off to Vocal. I shared it with my two writer friends, declaring it a success as far as experimenting way outside my usual genre, diction, and style went. Not my favorite piece ever, but decent enough and valuable as an exercise.

I figured that would be the end of it.

A week later, it got picked up as a Top Story. My first ever. And with that came a few comments, but nothing unreasonable.

Then “The Rocks” surprised again by netting me my first-ever challenge win with 2nd Place, and the flood gates really opened.

Overnight, I was inundated with reactions to that story, some simple congratulations. These were straight forward to respond to.

But I also had a few reactions that engaged with the story on levels I couldn’t even comprehend, dissecting and highlighting plot points with more thought than I honestly feared I had even put into these moments from the story.

It’s easy to put work out into the world that you don’t feel the strongest about. It’s a whole other thing when you see folks drawing such strong meaning from lines that you may not have spent nearly as much time on as these readers seem to believe.

In short, I felt a bit like a fraud.

The Upswing

It took two weeks to gain some emotional distance and finally respond to these comments with the level of thought and intentionality that I felt their earnest and genuine reactions deserved.

I have now vowed to myself to not allow such a lag to happen again, but we’ll see how that pans out in practice. It’s hard when I feel I don’t have enough time to write to begin with, much less engage with others who find my pieces.

It’s even harder when these pieces hold deep significance for me. Or the opposite, I don’t feel they are as good as they could have been. More on this point in the next section.

And, yes, I recognize that may be a sign that this platform isn’t for me in the long run. To be honest, I agree with that analysis. Vocal started out as a secondary effort, and it now takes up most of my creative bandwidth.

Part of that is the frequency of challenges has increased. Another part is the increased engagement I’ve been seeing. The third part is that I’m purposefully leaning more of my energy into Vocal challenge pieces since so many will be repurposed for my latest series.

But once I feel I have enough content for my Dick Winchester collection, I will be pivoting to that. Between him, the nearly completed Martin Williams series, the two general short story collections I have planned out, a podcast I’m trying to resuscitate, and the fact that I’ve never produced any print books before, that will be more than enough to keep me occupied without worrying about what Vocal challenges I’m missing out on.

It’s also a reflection of where I’m at as a writer. I’ve gotten a decent amount of publish credits under my belt for short stories, and now I feel like the piece I’m missing is some solo author offerings. It’s hard to convince my fans* to spend their hard-earned dollars for a book that includes a single story by me versus an entire print piece by yours truly.

*Wherever they are

So, this Vocal adventure has gone on far longer and gone far better than I expected. For those who have joined me, thank you for your support, your time, and everything else you have given along the way.

But this Vocal adventure is not forever.

Oh, and congratulations to Naomi Gold for scoring the top spot in the Painted Prose challenge. Always good to acknowledge your fellow winners.

Okay, back to the central message:

Your Content is Yours, But It Belongs to All Who Consume It

No, I did not just grant blanket permission to steal my stories (I hope 👀).

Indulge me for one more story from my writing past.

I had a play produced last year. I was lucky enough to live close enough to the theater that I could go see it, and even luckier to have a father willing to share the drive.

Six hours driving is nothing to me anymore. My record is twelve in one day. But six hours with sprained ankles and strained calves? That was going to be tough, so I’m incredibly grateful he could help me get there. Bonus, he also got to see the show.

Point being, I got to see my creation performed live, hear the reactions of the audience, and see the director’s interpretation of my show play out on stage.

Overall, the reception to DMV: Department of Mortality Verdicts was quite positive. But I did have a shock of anxiety when the lead actor was a bit too quiet delivering the opening joke of the play. Imagine sitting there as the opening joke of the whole production is met with crickets.

But rather than just be nervous about a misdelivered line, I was now sweating bullets because that particular joke is the source of the big callback punchline at the end. Will it be as impactful if the audience doesn’t know what’s being referenced now?

Still, there was nothing I could do but sit and let the chips fall where they may.

It’s an apt metaphor for the situation I’ve talked about in this post. You control the content, can do your best to lead the person consuming your work toward the message/meaning you intend, but you can do nothing to control the final outcome. My play was one thing to the director organizing it, another to the actors performing it, another to the audience witnessing it, and a whole different thing to the guy who wrote it: me.

Whether they love it or hate it, I need to accept the fact that my work can be interpreted any number of ways beyond my original intention (if I even had one to begin with). That someone lands on another message doesn’t make that interpretation less valid. And I need to remind myself that that is not a reflection of some “failing” in my writing.

So, just because I may not feel my writing was the most inspired doesn’t mean others can’t find beauty in it. If anything, they have the advantage of not knowing the background of how it was created. Maybe I’d feel more strongly about these pieces without that bias, too.

The content is mine, but once it is released into the great wide world, it belongs to all who experience it. There’s a kind of beauty in that.

This fact is just as true for the pieces I publish traditionally, but the key difference is I never really get to know who these stories reach. I never get to hear their thoughts or reactions for the most part. All that happens out of sight.

On Vocal, it’s front and center.

Suffice it to say, I’m still getting used to the immediate feedback Vocal provides. Thanks for bearing with me.

***

All right, that’s it. I’m done writing these pieces explaining myself as an author. There’s nothing left to say.

Wait, Vocal just launched a challenge about the first piece of writing I ever did? Maybe just one more...