Writing + Publishing = Sweaty Palms

The following was published at www.writers-on-line.com as "The Permanence of Publishing":

I wonder if all writers are actually control freaks. That’s one of the aspects of writing I enjoy the most: the control. Unlike using words orally, writing allows the author to rewrite a line as many times as it takes to make the point. However, it is due to how the writing caters to the needs of the author that the author can become a slave to the needs of the writing.

I can recall times when my right hand merely arched between the “Backspace” and arrow keys as I ruminated over the use of “the” as opposed to “a,” “a” as opposed to “the.” Nope, wait, let’s go back to “the” again. Fine, that’s good. Now, if I skip to where I left off I can…wait, let’s go back and try “a” again and this time I’ll read it out loud. Hmmm, maybe I should have my roommate read it first with “the” and then with “a.”

This attention to detail is acknowledging the fear inherent in the possibility of publication. I know that sounds strange. Shouldn’t publication be accompanied by happiness, even celebration? But that’s not always the case for those of us who would be patiently described as “neurotic.”

Sure, writers can control the fate of every little comma and semicolon, but once it’s published, the writer has no choice but to step back and let his baby go out into the real world. Much in the same way a parent must learn to let their child go out to survive in the real world and hope they prepared the child for what they will face, a writer can only hope that he did everything he could to service the story and fulfill its potential.

This may be why I have submitted only a select few pieces for publication. I feel that most of my stories are in various stages of adolescence. Some are pre-teens, their potential just coming into awareness, their scattered ideas become tighter, more focused. Some are full-fledged teenagers, wanting so much to be on their own, to be left alone, to be treated as the adults they so long to be yet aren’t quite. One or two are close to graduation, and, therefore, close to possibly moving out and moving on to the real world. A world full of criticism, both positive and negative, that may crack the protective bubble I have prepared for them. I can only hope that when the time comes for me to send my babies out, they will be the full-grown, fully-developed products I always wanted them to be.

The possibility of publication can influence the writer on a deeper level as well. In his essay “Why We Do the Things We Do,” Larry Smith refers to “that reward we all know where good writing confirms our deepest sense of self.” This pushes to something deeper than just the mere satisfaction one feels after writing something that doesn’t, you know, suck. It provokes a sense of accomplishment that one could find if pursuing almost anything of any worth. I suspect parents feel something similar when they see their own handiwork in the development and behavior of their children.

When Smith refers to “our deeper sense of self,” he refers to a psychological consequence of the permanence of writing; if you are published, there is a chance that if that piece of writing is treated properly, it could last for a long time, be passed among many people, and initiate many conversations. That’s the deeper sense of self that can be fulfilled by writing: when the author knows that no one else in the world could write what he wrote; that it is his singularity as a person and a writer - his experiences, his perspective, his resources – that came together to produce a work that no one else could duplicate short of plagiarism. And if the writing is good, a reciprocal effort takes place where the writing therefore justifies his experiences, his perspective, and his resources. The writer and the writing both serve each other. And maybe, just maybe, the writer can have a small hand in controlling his future.