Kern Carter's Blog, page 89
October 16, 2021
My Insecurities About Writing
How integrity and authenticity keep my doubts at bay.
Photo by Annie Spratt on UnsplashWhen I read CRY Magazine’s, “Call for Submissions — What Are Your Insecurities?” it hit me like a punch in the gut, hitting an inflamed nerve. I carry my insecurities around like a devil on my shoulder. The serpentine whisper in my ear, chanting my daily doubts. Lately, it has hissed louder than usual.
I started life out a bit “different.” I am an only child and adopted. Certainly, neither of these circumstances are strange or unusual, but that small “otherness” played a role in who I am today.
I grew up in the early ’90s before cell phones or the internet were mainstream. I never could muster any interest in video games. I watched some Nickelodeon and played with neighborhood friends. Mostly, I spent time outside, even if there was no one to play with. Only coming home when the street lights flickered on, else risk the wrath of my parents.
My small “otherness” led me to ponder when I was alone, which was often. I do not mean alone in a bad way. I am grateful for the boredom that aloneness provoked. It gave my little brain room to expand. I would fill that time with imagination, creating fantastical scenarios, like my biological parents were a King and Queen in a far-off land.
Or, I’d act out various scenes. For example, I once pretended to be April from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies. Leonardo was desperately in love with me. I’d swing the door to my father’s wardrobe open and say to the shelves within (my mind’s eye seeing the hulking turtle), “What are you doing here?” Then he would scoop me up in his slick green arms and kiss me. With tongue. Are you cringing? Because I am.
I have been writing for only nine months. As in pushing fingers to keys. The mental scenes and stories never stopped. I shared my work with a close friend and my husband and told a few others. About a month ago, I read a blog post describing what avenues you can take to step into the wide world of publishing. One of those avenues was Medium. I joined right then. I asked to be added as a writer to a few publications. I was ecstatic when they added me. I felt legit.
A little over two weeks ago, full of trepidation, I submitted a draft to CRY Magazine. It was in response to a “Call For Submissions — Write A Letter To Yourself.” I wrote “To Me, From Me,” in response. Not at all expecting, but hoping for publication. It was the first time I had ever submitted anything, anywhere.
Anecdotes from other writers taught me to get comfortable with rejection (I have plenty of doubts, but I have no doubt I will receive rejections aplenty). To my surprise, CRY Magazine chose to publish it. I was over the moon. I shared the link on my social media accounts. The response from my friends and family was lovely. They praised my prose and encouraged me to continue writing.
The number of reads is quite low compared to other articles on Medium, but something I wrote being read at all, was everything to me. In the wake of that first publication, the pressure to do it again (and again and again) builds every day.
I did not expect that sliver of acknowledgment and success to send me into such a tailspin. What was once my secret hobby, became open for all to judge. A secret shared. I felt laid bare. I had proclaimed lofty intentions, “I am a Writer!”
Now I sense eyes upon me, watching for my follow-through. Maybe, in a few cases, those eyes are watching for my lack of follow-through. I am aware this is my shoulder-devil talking. My self-doubt clanging around my mind, skewing reality.
What I do know to be true, what I return to over and over, is the promise I made to myself when I decided to start submitting my work. I promised myself three things:
To strive for quality, to the best of my ability, over quantity.Humility, always.To connect, read, and respond to my peer’s work as much as I write my own.If I hold onto these pillars, then I will not be sucked into the whirlpool of uncertainty. By cultivating integrity and authenticity (Hey Brené!), I will produce work I can be proud of, which is my ultimate goal.
So, when hope’s evil twin, doubt, comes along to tell me no one will like the piece I have poured myself into, and by proxy, not like me, I can give that bitch a little shoulder shrug, grab onto one of my pillars, and swing the other way.
My Insecurities About Writing was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
October 15, 2021
Haiku: Bridge or Ladder
Only those who are behind walls understand what a bridge or a ladder means
When I Say No
Saying no to you is one of the most painful things I must force myself to do.
Not all the time, not every time.
But knowing when to employ my boundary is how I keep loving me, while loving you.
The decisions you make are not mine and we both get a chance to live in this life. My eyes bleed with tears when I think about how you have allowed your hurt to guide you over the years.
This new way of thinking is how I continue to breathe from the depth of my breath.
I used to give myself to you until I had nothing else left.
Now there is a voice that reminds me to choose me, too.
I love you so much, I love us both when I open my heart to say no to you.
[image error]When I Say No was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
When I said ‘No’ to My Writing
“Most people are about as happy as their self confidence will allow them to be.” ― Shannon L. Alder
