Just Write

            They all look at me, dumbly, as I go on about the literary worth of a poem whose title I can no longer remember. I’ve loved every minute of it. It starts out as a slam poem with poignant line-breaks, raunchy humor, and conflicting morals and ends with an internal dialogue between a man and the invisible angel and devil on his shoulder. This is a good poem. This is my kind of poem. I finish my spiel and look around the conference room at impatient faces, waiting to criticize. An awkward silence passes, then- “I didn’t like it.” “Definitely in the NO pile.” “There was too much in it.” “Not enough in it.” “Just bad.” Same thing happens with the next poem, and the one after that, and the short story, and the essay. What I like, they hate. What I hate, they adore.

What is this?! This is supposed to be my thing. I’m the writer and the editor and the English fanatic. And I’m good at it! So, why is there a table of senior staff members biting their tongues at my critiques? Am I losing it? Do I really not have any literary taste at all? What about my writing? Oh, God, my writing. Am I that bad??? They are going to edit my submissions, next week! This is not okay. This is not going to be good. Can I take them back, before they see them? Maybe I should just stop and quit, now.

            Snap out of it! You were the editor, last year. The editor, damn it! You know your stuff! You have a reputation to uphold. This is the dream! This is what you do. This is who. you. are. Screw the magazine and they editors and the critics and red pen and and the cross outs the NO pile and write. Write and write and don’t stop for anyone or anything. This is how it’s done. They’ll love you, or they’ll hate you… just as long as they feel something. Just. Keep. Writing.