I have a little editor who lives in a cul de sac in my forehead, just off the main route between Crown Chakra and Third Eye Chakra. I know he lives there because sometimes I can feel him banging on the ceiling when he thinks I’m not paying enough attention to him.
He spent the last couple of weeks lurking, letting me publish my first few posts so he could get a sense of this blog. Then he started sharing with me his eternal fountain of criticism, which didn’t really come as a surprise. This ain’t our first tango.
The little editor has a great big voice. He leans into my ear, from the inside, like some Dr. Seuss character and launches into a litany of everything that is wrong with whatever I’m doing at the time, which in this instance is writing this blog. “What do you know? Surely if you thought of this somebody already wrote it. You’re off topic. You’re too narrowly focused. You’re writing too much like Joe Bloggs. Good God, don’t try to be yourself! No, No, No! That’s too personal. Now that’s so vague it’s meaningless. There are like 10,395,1411,698,217,003 blogs in cyberspace, why would anybody want to read this crap.” Blah blah blah ad nauseum.
As you can imagine, it’s very difficult to be creative while being subjeced to all that criticism. So, to compensate, I put my feet on the desk, lean back in my swivel chair, and let my mind wander while the editor prattles on. His voice begins to fade away as I float down a lazy stream of consciousness: “I don’t feel like writing today. It’s too nice out. Plus I’m tired from being on all night baby duty two out of the last three nights. And I’ve got that job interview on my mind. And the Boston Celtics are doing poorly in the Eastern conference finals.” Blah, blah, blah ad nauseum.
Clearly, the editor and I have a co-dependent relationship. Once every blue moon or so, the editor throws me a bone of a compliment, but that only puts more pressure on me. Usually this guy is just standing in my way, trying to block me from taking any action that he hasn’t first examined from every possible angle then approved wholeheartedly. As if. He’s probably a frustrated artist looking for company for his misery. This relationship has to change.
So I’m putting you on notice editor (yeah, I’m talking to you). Thank you for sharing. Now sit down and shut up. Whatever you’ve got to say, I don’t want to know. At least not unil I’ve hit the Publish buton. If that means I look stoopid from time to time, so be it. Sit there editor, be good and maybe I’ll let you do some proof reading later. Maybee knot.