The Artistic Journey: Crafting Words Like a New Parent
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Chapter 1: The Birth of a Writer
Writing is often likened to the experience of parenting an unattractive child. For many, the act of sharing heartfelt work is fraught with the fear of being judged.
When I launched my first blog in 2007, my intention was simply to create a space for my essays. I understood that the site was public, accessible to anyone, yet this was a time before SEO and analytics became commonplace. Blogger provided minimal tools for promoting my work, relying mostly on RSS feeds.
This lack of visibility didn’t bother me; I had no products to sell and no revenue goals. I would have been perfectly content if my essays only attracted a single visitor—myself. My inaugural essay humorously recounted an incident when my husband forgot to feed our toddler dinner simply because I hadn’t mentioned it. I excitedly shared the link with my cousin and mother, who have always supported my writing and appreciated my sense of humor.
A few months into my routine of weekly essays, a tech-savvy friend stumbled upon my blog and shared it with our college circle. Given their longstanding admiration for my work, their positive feedback encouraged me to venture into sharing my essays on Facebook. Over time, I developed a modest readership, receiving thoughtful and mostly positive feedback. The occasional criticism—often from men who disliked my candid reflections on marriage—served only to fuel my determination. While their remarks might sting, I continue to write because their perspectives hold little weight for me.
Do you dislike my humor? That’s your prerogative. Do you think I lack respect for my partner? That’s your opinion. Do you wish I would stop writing? I won’t.
What truly matters to me are the opinions of those who can answer the pivotal question, “Is this good writing?” As Elizabeth Stone aptly states, "Deciding to have a child is a significant commitment; it means your heart will forever wander outside your body." I argue that creating art carries a similar weight. Just as with parenting, it involves exposing your heart to the world.
Writing is my artistic expression. It emerges from the depths of my creativity and privacy. Often, I find myself drained after completing pieces that peel away the layers protecting my vulnerabilities. Each time I hit "submit," I feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. Will my work be embraced? Will it be criticized? Do either of those reactions define its value?
While I share regularly on Medium, I also aspire to have my work featured in literary journals. This involves spending countless hours brainstorming, drafting, seeking feedback, and revising. Many journals require a cover letter, making the submission process feel akin to job hunting.
You must find a publication that aligns with your writing style, understand what the editors seek, adhere strictly to their guidelines, and meet deadlines. You put forth your best effort, competing against many, often with more experience than yourself. All you can do is hope they recognize your potential, appreciate your creativity, and give you a chance.
But what if they don’t?
Writing is like nurturing a baby that others deem unattractive. You pour your heart into it, believing it to be perfect, only to face criticism from others who fail to see its beauty. Some may find other creations more appealing.
Rejection is challenging to digest, whether it’s a polite note saying your essay isn’t suitable or a simple acknowledgment that yours was one of many submissions. When I receive a rejection email, I take a moment to process my feelings of disappointment and anger. I reflect on my cherished creation and the editors’ perception of its flaws. I confide in fellow writers about my publishing trials, then either let the piece rest for a while or submit it elsewhere.
This process is painful, but it’s part of the cycle of writing. The most difficult moments arise when I receive no response at all. Some journals explicitly state that if you don’t hear back in a few months, consider it a no. Others use autoresponders, informing you that they receive hundreds of submissions and will only reply if your work is selected.
The silence is often more disheartening than a rejection. I find myself worrying—did my submission get lost in the editor’s inbox? Was my email mistakenly categorized as spam?
Then, the day comes when I receive a subscriber link for their latest edition, and I realize—they thought my creation was unattractive.
But I will persevere. I will continue writing through the negative comments on Medium and the rejections from publications. Even if I never publish a book, I’ll create enough content to fill one—or even several.
The ability to give life to an idea, just as one does with a child, is a precious gift. I may not be perfect, nor is my writing flawless. While others may point out the imperfections in my essays, I see a reflection of my identity, and I’ve been told I was quite an adorable child.
About Me — Melissa Marietta
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