Accomplishment
Every writer has doubts about their writing. It doesn’t matter how many times my Mum will tell me that my writing is good, there’s always a little thought in the back of my mind, wondering if it’s really that good. Plus, she’s my mother. She’s biased.
But, sometimes, you will get someone you’ve never spoken to before leave a comment on a blog post, or on a tweet, saying just how much they loved reading your story. Sure, you will also get those saying that you should change your entire writing style, because they don’t think it’s an acceptable way of writing, but still.
I had a bit of a moment, a few minutes before writing this, where I felt something I am not sure I have ever felt before – unquestionable faith in my ability to write a good story. And it wasn’t because someone told me they liked reading something I wrote, or because my Mum told me I was a great writer. It was simply because I spent nearly 17 minutes listening to someone read my own writing back to me.
I submitted a story to the podcast, Nonbiographical, which I wrote in its entirety on the evening I said I would write it. 2368 words, which then sat in a document, on my computer desktop for nearly two weeks before I opened the document again, checked it over, and sent it. I will admit, I had my reservations about the whole thing. The only place I have ever published my stories before has been here, on my blog, and I certainly have never had anyone read out anything I have written.
But then, I was sent a link, and I followed it to Spotify. I proceeded to sit in shock for the entirety of the podcast episode, and for a good few minutes afterwards. What I heard read out didn’t give me the experience I get when reading my own work. When I read the words I write, I hear my own voice in my head, reading them out. I skim the words, think about what would make it better, wonder if it’s any good. What I heard was something strange – I listened to my story as if it was the first time I was experiencing the words, even though I had read through all them at least ten times. I experienced my story as a reader might, reading the words for the first time, except I had the added aspect of ‘did I write this? Really?!’
The conclusion I came to is that you can never truly judge your own writing, because you know the thought process behind every word, you know the struggle of trying to remember how to spell that word, and you know how long it took you to get over that plot hole. With the words on a screen, or a page, in front of you, you know that those two paragraphs were switched around when you were editing. You see the words, the concepts, the plans, you don’t lose yourself in the story. Take away the words from in front of you, close your eyes as you listen to someone read your story to you, and you see what inspired the story. You see the images you tried to put down into words, and you know that you succeeded. You brought those images, those feelings, to life, and they live within those words, even if you can’t see or feel them when you read it yourself.
And, of course I named this story something strange, a last minute addition to the email I sent, just to make sure the weirdness of who I am came across… ‘A Cup of Mint Tea, With A Side of The End of The World’. So aptly described by Nonbiographical as a ‘post-apocalyptic story about a young girl left to fend for herself after the end of the world.’
You can listen to A Cup of Mint Tea, With A Side of The End of The World on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
I really hope you experience what I did when listening to my story.
And done!
It really is rather odd to listen to a podcast of your own story. Nonbiographical is accepting submissions of short stories, if you are interested in writing one for the podcast. You can find out more by listening to the episode with my story, or you can get in touch with Nonbiographical on their Twitter.
That's all for now...
Bye!
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