So, the other night Colby and I got to talking about being famous and dealing with the criticism and snark that tends to come your way from all angles when you’re living life in the public eye—magazines, television shows, internet forums, etc. I reached the conclusion that if I were ever to become famous I would probably end up Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston famous—as in complete and total mental breakdown and debilitating dependence on alcohol as my only friend in this cold, cruel world. In short, I don’t deal with negative attention well. Which is actually sort of a bad thing when you have a public website. Particularly a website that contains many personal reflections and is read by more than one person.
I don’t have very many physical scars, in fact, I think I can list them all on one hand and where each one came from. There is one on my face next to my eye from when I had chicken pox and just COULD NOT TAKE ONE MORE MINUTE of not scratching. There’s the faint outline of a scar on my knee from when I was very little and managed to get all tangled up in my diaper bag and fall down. I have two on my feet from the time that I wore a brand new pair of flip flops and then proceeded to walk all over Atlanta in them and tear my feet to shreds. The thing is that none of those scars hurt anymore—they only remain there as a reminder of things that one should probably not do if one would like to keep one’s skin in pristine, alabaster condition.
The other thing about me is that if there is any activity that involves danger, I am more than likely afraid of it. Heights? Don’t like them. Snakes? Shudder. Oceans? Good God, there are sharks and who knows what else in there. It is rare that I will put myself into a situation where I could incur some sort of damage, because after 23 years of living with myself I’ve pretty much reached the conclusion that if I can cause some sort of injury to befall my body in any way, I probably will.
However, of all of these things the most terrifying thing in the world to me is allowing people to read what I’ve written. To let someone read something so personal—something that you have created from nothing—and then have them criticize it, even constructively, is what I would imagine it to be like if someone knocked down your kid and called him an ugly little bastard. It hurts somewhere deep down inside, and it’s the kind of scar where the hurt never really goes away. I’ve received many compliments on what I’ve written, but I can’t remember any of them as clearly as the few hurtful things I’ve been told. And the compliments I can always dismiss as “oh, they’re just being nice”, “he’s family, he has to say that”, but when someone says something hurtful it stays with me forever.
That’s part of the reason I started writing online. To get exposure from people outside of my family—whether I like it or not, and try to break myself of that fear. Because some day, if I ever want to go through with this whole “getting published” concept, I’ll probably have to let other people read what I write. And I’m probably going to get a lot of rejection letters before I get anything positive. It just never hit me how ridiculously cruel people can be without any regard for the fact that there is indeed a person behind the website. I’m sure as more people start reading here, I’ll get more in the way of rude comments and email than the sprinkling I’ve received thusfar, and I’m just going to have to learn to roll my eyes and toughen up. Which, actually, I’m quite good at doing on the outside; it’s just a matter of convincing myself that I really do mean it.
For those of you who I’ve come to know through this blogging endeavor and those of you who I’ve known for ages, I just want to say thank you so much for all of your kind words and for coming back day after day to see what sort of crazy thing I’ll be rambling on about. You all really are the reason I keep doing this, and I’ll try to remember to let all of the good things I hear outweigh the bad. What do they know anyway!
The internets, they are full of the asshats, and I'm sorry they're picking on you.
Posted by: Dawn | December 19, 2005 at 08:20 PM
Ok, whose booty do I need to kick? Give me names!
Posted by: Brittany | December 20, 2005 at 03:18 PM
I'm with Brittany. Where are they? Lemme at 'em!
I think most of us feel vunerable in our writing. At least, those of us who write truly from the heart and not just about the latest perfume we like or something! It's risky and scary. But, know that your words do reach people and you have a lot of people who love to read them. So, don't ever let one stinky comment make you feel like you shouldn't be writing. Remember all the good ones instead!
Posted by: Steph. | December 20, 2005 at 09:21 PM