One week into my challenge and I almost failed. I registered for a class that teaches strategies to embrace imperfect pieces of writing. Imagine the irony of trying to perfect imperfection. 😂
I didn’t attend because I was too busy with work and the memoir. Still, that’s a normal urge. Do your best. Become an expert, instead of just enjoying the journey.
And that’s fine most of the time. I won’t ever be careless about my writing or not put in my best work out there. With writing, this is even more important because our art depends on publication. Our work has to be near perfect for a publisher to pick it up. It’s not rare for a writer to work on an essay or a story for months, even years. I’ve spent weeks on a paragraph and I know I’m not the only one. The problem becomes when perfectionism hinders progress. This is not a craft essay so I won’t act like I have the solution.
But I caught myself.
In the last couple of years, posting on social media has been increasingly difficult. There’s so much injustice that posting about my happy moments feels selfish. Not only that but any post can be taken out of context. Even worse, how can I post without advocating for social justice? Then to post, I must choose a lane. I can’t post about just random subjects because of the acronyms. Should I post about writing, my memoir themes, or my family? My interests are too random, too boring, too controversial, too private. Motivation posts are overrated. Don’t post that, Nilsa. What about research? People won’t be interested. How should I comment on politics? Why should I even open the door to frustration with the angst in the US? And the competition. And the advertisements. The picture or post isn’t even good. Oops, edit that 2-day-old post, you forgot the “s” in word “write”. What’s the point, I don’t even post enough to build an audience. What will my coworkers say? My friends? The doubt overwhelms me. And thus I end up not posting anything.
This happens with everything. The insecurity paralyzes me. I set out to do something fun. I have to plan it out. Research. Write and rewrite. Make it perfect. Then I don’t proceed because my inner critic takes the joy out of it. Podcasts, newsletters, reels, and business ideas have all drowned in the lake of doubt before they even got started.
But this week I pushed myself. I posted two observations on FB I had written for later works. I ignored my inner critic telling me I needed to polish them more. I took a breath when I thought about being judged.
One of the posts:
Another week another snippet from the same food distribution center:
Open Your Hands to Me
I’m sitting at a table waiting for the event to start. A Black woman approaches me with her palms open, asking me to place my hands on hers.
I’m startled. I don’t want prayer, I tell myself.
She extends her arms again and I comply.
“Hi, how are you doing today?”
I smile. “I’m good.” And I am, for the first time that week as my hands are cradled in hers, happiness expands in my body.
She then walks toward two white ladies and a white man and does the same. They grimaced, paused their conversation, and glare at her until she moves on.
Later on, the Black woman says, “Listen everyone! Call this number for a year of free Wi-Fi.”
Everyone, including the white family, writes the number down.
I’m not religious, but wonder who Jesus would save.
It was difficult and after posting I closed the app and had to walk, to move the fear out of my bloodstream.
Where I went:
I also submitted two essays I’ve been working on for months, one of them for a year and a half. I went to a local writing group held by an amazing nonprofit Kitchen Table Literary Arts. There I was encouraged and supported while I submitted. And to think I almost skipped it. I had told myself, I had to polish the work more. But I forced myself and it was so nice to be physically around other writers. I also got accepted into their Speculative Fiction class. I love to write Speculative Nonfiction, but how do you publish what everyone thinks is unreal, but to you, it’s faith?
What I did:
And I even posted reels on making mixed media art in IG Live that I refuse to look at because I was a mess. But it was so much fun!!!
What I’m reading:
El Viento Conoce Mi Nombre by Isabel Allende. My goodness, it is so good and I tried the Audible for a few hours. The narration and acting are incredible.
Thank you for reading if you got this far. I appreciate you so much. What are you up to? How do you deal with doubts?
You! Leonard Cohen said, “There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” You have a remarkable ability to feel the cracks in yourself and to share the light that comes in through them. Thank you.