Rising up

Whatever you do do it well-

Walt Disney

I’d like to avoid the difficult editing stages of polishing a piece of writing, so I may delay doing it, even so ending up having to do it, because I just gotta. It is thinking about what I want out of the piece that motivates me to “rise up” mentally and take the bull to the horns as they say. Without a good polish, I am left with regret and sorrow over a piece that could have been so much better with a polish. Then, there’s someone saying, “it’s all good” which makes me feel better, but not reassured. To be reassured is knowing that the piece is good in my own mind–but thanks for the encouragement, very much. Keep on polishing until satisfied.

It’s still writing, but…

Whatever you do and whatever it’s about, no matter how noble or realistic and so on. But I want more, something different, something so resonate that the audience will want to keep on turning the page. One writer replied: I will obey! Another one said: I am who I am. I said, I’ll stick to my guns. And the one who got the job said: I don’t care. But he would learn to…


A little story she found in the throes of writing her latest manuscript. It was found in-between the pages of her first novel. The content of the note was chilling, freezing her senses. What happened then could happen again. This was the note:

The publisher tried to console me. “Acceptances and rejections come one’s way no matter how the writing is. Yours just wasn’t a fit this time. But we invite you to try again.” I considered this and thought about what they said: Yours was not a fit this time. But they must love my ideas because they invited me to submit again. So, make it fit! Try again. Now, I should write something that suits them and wait and wait and wait…anticipating, expecting. Will my work be good enough? Who knows.

She waited for six months. In the sixth month, the reply came, “Yours wasn’t a fit this time. Sorry. Please try again in the future.” She bit her lip and tried again. A few months later, as she was furiously writing, she realized, what’s the point? And tried someone else, who said, “Good luck in finding another publisher for your work.” But she kept on trying and trying. She revised and revised after each rejection and the piece kept on sounding better. But it always sounded good, she thought. Then one day she came to the realization: should I stop, now? Has this piece does its dash? One more try, she thought.

Fifty rejections later, she is published, but would the cycle of rejection happen again? She put the note away and thought, I got through that. I can get through it again. Not that I ever will.

This is the tale of a writer who made the big time.