Not Allowing Others to Control My Life on a Basic Level

Last year, I joined a local writers' group for the first time. I needed to collaborate with other, more professional and proficient writers to improve my writing skills. Instead, the experience left me disappointed and disillusioned with the writing process. I didn't plan for that, but it was a lesson learned.

 I found the local writers' group using Meetup, which searched for all local interest groups. I was thrilled to find a group that met near me. I was hesitant and afraid to go at first. After all, what did a novice blog writer have to offer people who had already published their books? Not much, I'm afraid. I was welcomed warmly at first, but as I attended more meetings, it became clear that everyone else was more interested in their writing careers and successes than in communicating with a blogger. I felt underappreciated because everyone else worked on their projects and could discuss meeting milestones. In contrast, I could only briefly describe whatever was on my mind at the time and what I was writing about.

Most group members were women, and several had already published books. Their field of interest was romance novels. I posted about politics and Kindness, so we had little in common. Their conversations centered on writing novels. I told them that I was nowhere near wanting to write a book. They smiled politely as only Southern women can, and I felt the emotional slap; I knew there was no common ground between us. 

I kept attending the meetings because I liked the self-discipline to apply to my writing, but the hope of feeling accepted gradually faded. When the holiday season started, there were scheduled meetings where I was the only person who attended, or there might be one new person meeting for the first time. I got frustrated with the lackadaisical approach and finally decided to quit going. Why was I wasting my time with a group that seemed to evaporate and neglected any new members that might show up? I didn't deliver a ringing endorsement for the group to those who showed up when I was the only person there. I expressed my disappointment with the group, and that is when I decided to leave.

 I felt insecure because my writing wasn't appreciated. I felt resentful at first, and that led to depression. I could not write consistently because I felt like no one read my stuff. I felt like I wasted my time writing. I hated that feeling. I made excuses for not writing. I was withdrawing into myself when I wanted to reach out. Emotionally, I became a complete mess. I thought everything I wrote was wasted, and no one cared. I was wrong, but I was too upset to see that.

My insecurities weren't helped as Medium became less reliable with its writing rewards. I never made more than $10 in a month, and in two years, I never found that elusive secret to success on Medium. I encountered several excellent writers who encouraged me to be myself and start from there. After approximately two years, I canceled my membership, which cost me money. I fell into a dark place altogether and needed a new outlet for my writing.

 Then, I found Substack, where I could gradually open up and write again—a writing community where people encouraged each other. I dove into my backlog of stories, completed some of them, and published them again. I started writing new stories and posting them as well. I haven't asked for donations from subscribers, and I don't know if I ever will. Starting over wasn't easy. My initial expectations were probably too high, and combined with the ever-present fear of failure, I lacked the necessary confidence in my writing. I needed to find that happy spot to make my writing more natural and personal.

With Substack and the wonderful people I met, things felt completely different after my first few stories. I didn't get the snarky and angry responses I got from Medium. Instead, I got positive feedback and reinforcement about my writing. As I write this, I am still processing what is happening to me, but I am more encouraged than ever. My story backlog needs to be whittled down, but that is rather difficult as I constantly add new story ideas.

I won't rush my writing anymore. I take my time crafting the best story possible for my subscribers. I constantly remind myself to stop dwelling in the notes section on Substack. It's so easy to get lost there and forget the real purpose of being here: to write. Everyone has a story to tell; mine is just as important as anyone else's. I won't self-censor my thoughts and ideas to accommodate someone else any longer.

Another unexpected benefit of Substack is that I have rediscovered my joy of reading. I read posts that interest me and find them well thought out and presented rather than simple opinion pieces. I am also reading books, or at least e-books. I dropped Amazon and Kindle and switched to Barnes and Noble with their Nook reader. I have finally started to stand behind my principles. When companies like Amazon and Google bend the knee to Nazi tyrants, I withdraw my support from them in protest.

When my writing adversely impacts someone, they must determine their next steps. They can unsubscribe from my Substack or my webpage. I must speak out about what matters because it gives me inner peace and strength. I will never invade someone else's timeline to interrupt them or start arguments; that wastes energy and emotion, and I do not have the time or interest to do so.

The writer's group gave me some solid lessons about writing and expectations. I consider the whole thing a positive experience that ran its course much more quickly than I would have liked, but such is life.