We all hit publish in our own way, and that is magic.
Last week, I explored the creatively conflicted artist. I said:
"Every time you send your art into the vastness of the internet, or your book is published to the world, that special object that you developed, cared for, and doted upon, becomes everyone else's object. An object that you hope will be treated with just as much care as you gave it, but that you know may suffer the shock of the real world."
How does that act of sharing change your relationship with your work?
The Not-Knowing
While there's always a risk that anything could happen once your creation is public, you've already spent time working out how to bring value. You've already considered how to say things without causing offence, unless you're writing an angry rant.
Hopefully you're not putting out loads of angry rants.
Anyway, let's say you put out a highly personal piece, with emotions spilling out. It resonates with many readers, helping others to open up and share their experiences more freely.
Then you put out the most innocuous piece with practically no room for controversy. Yet some rude comments arrive on the socials, because that distancing seems to bring out confidence in harsh judgements and strong opinions.
Goes to show how unpredictable results can be. Anything is possible.
Much of the 'risk' in hitting publish isn't so much about our writing as much as it is risking the wrath of the big bad world and how it reacts to your writing.
The Not-Happening
You know your work is important though. You have your reasons for sharing. Therapeutic, artistic, networking, professional, profit-based, all sorts.
And that's where another risk comes in. You risk the lack of the big bad world noticing you at all. The lack of feedback bites. You feel the freeze outside and wonder if it's easier to withdraw and curl up with a hot cup of tea, pretending you missed the publish button and maybe never did press it after all.
Was it easier when publishing was a bunch of publishers and editors doing the gatekeeping, if only they would recognise your genius? Then it was somebody else's fault, not yours.
I say that deliberately, because it's still not your fault!
It's still not your fault. Hitting publish to crickets involves many factors. Any lack of ability is one subjective variable out of many, many variables. Low down the list too, I'd say.
Doesn't stop the fear keeping it near the top of the list.
It's still not your fault.
Over the years, I've seen my best output go nowhere, and my hastily written stuff get all the engagement and accolade.
None of it actually matters. Read by millions, ignored by all, loved with enthusiasm, hated with passion. Whatever.
I create for you, that's true. And I also create for me.
The Not-Minding
When I'm happy with me, that's the main thing. There is strength in that belief. I do take in the external feedback, positive and negative (hopefully constructive either way). But I don't sweat it as I take it in.
I hit publish and enjoy the process, satisfied with what's been, prepared to amend and discuss where useful, and always looking to grow. That's the curious side of me for sure.
My work doesn't sound like everything I read, listen to, and watch. Not everything you consume is built like you, communicating the way you would, conforming to your ways, displaying your little ticks and quirks.
Yet you still enjoy what you're consuming. It's why you choose it.
Hitting send on your latest piece needn't be as scary as it feels. The number of views and likes don't matter. The metrics are less for you and more for the platform dealing with metrics like that. Social media platforms thrive on the metrics, which has led the public to see the numbers as the driver.
The Not-Goodenoughness
I'm sure you've heard all this before.
I could fret over that. I could abandon publishing this piece altogether out of fear that you've heard it all before. I could worry that this article is too meta and not enough to do with curiosity. I could overthink matters and wonder why I've not included a more personal angle. I could feel like I’m not good enough.
What is my real message here? Can't I think of something more original? And since I'm not that worried about hitting publish myself, how is that any use or consolation to someone who IS worried? Wait, what if I'm wrong and nobody is scared to press publish now? Is it all in my head? And what if I've come across as *too* confident, or even cocky and out of touch? How can I explain myself better? When is a good time to stop writing? Should I add some pictures to the piece? Where would they be best placed so the visual flow works? Speaking of which, this paragraph of questions is getting dense and difficult to read, so I'd better just remove it. Or keep it in to make the point? Ooh, or make it an aside so the reader isn't forced to read it if they don't want to. Oh no, have I been forcing the reader to read more than they want to?
By the way, I was tempted to carry on more than delete, because that's my confident side cocky side choice.
And I chose to stop there.
The Not-Alone
When you do what you feel works for you, and you have worked with care and love, that's much of the confidence right there. The next steps are those of trust.
Whenever you're about to press that button to publish, remember that so many other people around the world are about to press that button too. All with their own, unique reasons. A collective and a bunch or original intents simultaneously.
We all hit publish in our own way, and that is magic.
Love this Martin. I captures something of the ‘we’re all in this together’ spirit that I am enjoying about Substack. Again, it’s the energy in your voice that really comes through, too! Thanks.
As someone currently publishing to crickets, I took so much from this. Thank you Martin!