I hesitate to even admit to the amount of time I read, reread, and reread again things I have written. There is a little voice in my head that says, “If you admit this to them, they will know…they will know…they willllll knnnowwww.” Yeah, the voice in my head is just that much of a nag, and just that obnoxiously creepy. See what I have to deal with? Seriously.
However, if Hamilton can write the Reynolds Pamphlet, I can write this. Okay, so maybe one is way more serious than the other. I’ll let you decide which is which. I think it’s a no brainer. Really.
I reread my own words neurotically. I do not say that lightly, with exaggeration, or figuratively. I consume my own writing with anxious and obsessive repetitiveness. I am constantly going through, saying the words aloud, working through the structure, putting it down and coming back again, attempting to pretend like I am reading it for the first time with a different worldview. Sometimes I even attempt to read it with a different accent. Not a mandarin one though. That’s just too much. I have boundaries.
I often worry that this is an ego thing. I am sure there are some folks out there who will bet a paycheck that it is. One, it’s the easy answer. Two, it’s what they want to think about me anyway. But I am going to go ahead and let you know that it is not an ego thing. I have ego things – my hair, my gym time, the way my man looks, my hair (did I say that already – of course I did) – but the way I reread my shit, is not like any of those. So I can only conclude it is not an ego thing. I really wish we had bet that paycheck.
There is some embarrassment to admitting this. I have heard folks talk about what they don’t do with their work – actors who don’t watch their own movies, musicians that don’t listen to their own songs, children who won’t acknowledge their own mess. Okay, so that last one is not the same, but you get my point. I have heard folks say this and there is an air to that sentiment that suggests confidence, coolness, professionalism, comfort that I just don’t have. At all. And I really would like to use all those words to describe myself. Instead, I get compulsive. Yay.
But truth is truth and I am attempting to process it as it comes in its rawest form and see what types of interesting ideas I can pluck from the material.
The best I can figure is I just give a shit.
Writing is so amazingly personal for me. It’s a gift, really, as being able to put nouns and verbs together on a page in a way that seems to be pleasing to consume has helped me more than any other outlet in discovering my ideas, sorting my brain, and growing in myself. So I am appreciative.
But it is so amazingly personal. Words that I put on a page have always felt like an extension on myself – another toe, maybe an arm, most assuredly a piece of my heart. So I am critical of it. Concerned that I have presented it properly, was truthful, respectful, honest, not dodgy. I worry about how others perceive it, if I was responsible in the tone and delivery, thoughtful of others who may see themselves in it.
So I read it. And I read it again. And I read it again. And then again.
But the truth is no matter how many times I read it, I will still miss things. And I am not talking just about commas and misspellings (although I am sure there are both). I am talking about perspectives, nuances, thoughts between the spaces.
Because that’s where the real stuff with writing happens – between the spaces. And there’s nothing as a writer that I can do to control what happens there. I know this. The catch is that I have total control over what creates the space, therefore I feel responsible, to a large degree, for what happens inside the space. And, while I may be a bit harder on myself than I should, there is a real sense of responsibility and insecurity each and every time I push ideas into the public domain.
But I continue to do it because writer’s write. And the only avenue I have found to calm my nerves about the appropriateness of the thoughts I have put together is to read them over and over again. The repetition, as irritating as it is for me, does serve to either confirm that I have done the best I can do, or bores me to tears to the point where I just don’t care anymore and it’s fine the way it is. I’m not sure this follow through technique is the most productive proofreading style, but I work with what I have.
I felt compelled to share this little bit of explanation just in case someone gets twisted, disagrees, or generally hates something I have to say or that I felt the liberty to say it. I just want you to know that I read it, extensively, and so there is a bit of confidence that it was something I wanted to say, in the way I wanted to say it, that I felt I had the liberty to say. Also, I realize I get it wrong, so I am completely up for a discussion concerning what happened in the spaces when you visit what I create. But the neat thing about this journey is that I am learning that while I do get it wrong sometimes, I am not always wrong just because someone says that I am. My voice is valid. Yours is too. That doesn’t take agreement or submission.