It was a fantastic idea. Exhilarating, really. I would write a story close to my heart, one that would enlighten the world. It would be the start of my long-desired career in writing.
What would I write about? Self-loathing triggered by sex abuse.
I know a lot about self-loathing. And writers should write about what they know. So, I’m good here.
The actual writing of my story was very liberating. It was the hurt, the doubts, the self-inflicted pain, the way we make things worse when we try to make things better. It was nearly tangible to me and I thought about my characters all day and dreamed about them at night. Would they find love? Would they learn to love themselves? It was all laid out on the pages, lives full of real consequences clearly linked to their causes.
I considered it a good thing that I am so close to the subject I was writing about… until I sent the manuscript off to beta readers.
Struggling to figure out how to get the manuscript from Scrivener into Kindle format, then how to send it as a personal document was a two hour long struggle involving tears, calls to my IT husband, and nearly flinging the laptop across the room. As it turns out, I can’t view personal documents on the Kindle App for Windows8. So, I could only test the layout on my teeny-tiny phone. But, I got it there and simultaneously sent it out to my beta-readers.
My previous two self-edits with multiple spot checks should have caught most of the mistakes. But, as I read over the manuscript on my phone’s Kindle App, my mistakes popped out from where my eyes had overlooked them in Scrivener. I found misspellings of character names, repeated words, too much ‘said’ and ‘ing’ words. I even found where I had written “close” instead of “clothes”. My chapter breaks (on my phone) were often indistinguishable from page breaks. It was not reading like I had intended.
Every time I found a mistake, I cringed knowing my beta readers would see it, too. I highlighted my mistakes on my Kindle. The more I read, the more mistakes I caught. The yellow highlights felt like cuts on my skin. The more I found, the more I began to anticipate. I began highlighting entire paragraphs. I wasn’t just reading over it. I was tearing it apart. I wanted it to die. Die. Die! I hate it and me and this whole idea is stupid!
The part of me which fed the telling of the story is the part of me wanting to mutilate it before I even write a query letter. I will need to push that part of me away if I ever plan to get it published. It’s a paradox I didn’t see coming. But, I should have seen it because I’ve had to fight it many times before.
Mistakes. Oh, the many I have made. My entire life, all 41 years of it, is a sequence of trial and error which weighed heavily toward error. For someone who hates to be wrong, I sure was wrong a lot. Looking back on it now, I almost can’t believe I have come this far. But, I’ve never met a mountain climber who was ashamed for starting at the bottom. This crazy life has brought me to a pretty good place. I am no longer in the habit of beating myself up about how long it took to get here. That alone has made me happier.
And that’s what I try to tell myself about writing. If you are new to this, maybe you can relate. We’re starting at the bottom, fumbling around with unfamiliar equipment and hoping we remember all the instructions. But we won’t. Not the first try and maybe not the tenth.
I apologized to my beta readers for the mistakes I laid on them. But, I’m not going to read anymore of my manuscript until I hear their commentary. I’m dropping the club I’ve been hitting myself in the head with. The beta-readers might have a club of their own to use on me, but I’m in this for the long haul. I’ll take what they’re bringing and I’ll own it.
It’s going to get better. It always has so far.
Julie Roberts Towe 