Writing Raw

It's scary but invigorating, and maybe this is the place for it.

I’ve spent 26 years as a working writer.

In all that time, except for Thank You notes and letters to my Grandma, my work has been edited before it’s ever been read by others.

And Grandma was a retired English teacher so even then, I got plenty of feedback.

After I write and revise my own pieces, sometimes a hundred times, others do too. Only then are they published.

Everything I’ve sent out into the world has gone through an elaborate filtrations system. Teachers, editors, copy editors, producers, agents, publishers, and writing colleagues. It’s been revised, fixed, fact-checked, polished, edited, rewritten, and rewritten again until it was the best it could be for the readers.

I’ve always done it that way.

Until now. These notes on Simply, Write come to you writer direct.

Writer Direct

They are a gift to you, from me.

And I feel that. I always want my writing to be good. To have value. To inspire, entertain, and inform. Writing should do that. I want my writing to do that.

I revise, restructure, edit, omit all kinds of stuff, check the facts that need checking, spellcheck, and everything else. And then editors help me make it even better. It’s an important part of the process.

But in these pages, here, it’s just me writing to you.

My stomach drops a little and my skin buzzes right before I hit the send button. Then I take a deep breath, click the key, and send this out to you. Leaping, without a net.

And then I fret that I left some typo or fragment. That the idea wasn’t focused enough, or the sentences were unclear. I worry that I wrote wine when I meant, whine. Right when it should be write. These thoughts keep me from sleeping.

Writing with this kind of immediacy is both frightening—don’t want to make a mistake—and exhilarating—flying on the idea and a feeling.

It feels like this is what these Substack notes should be right now.

A combo of the serious craft stuff, and the business and freelance tips I’ve picked up over the years mixed with the details about what it can be like to be a full-time, freelance writer.

Because you see, I want you to do it too. I want you to write and publish your work.

The doing of it—the writing—that will change you.

But the sharing of it changes the world.

When we ship it out and give it to others that’s when things happen.

But Geez Louise, this is asking a lot. Because sharing the work in a cancel culture, publishing the work, takes confidence and courage, skill, and persistence. It takes sensitivity and toughness, curiosity and dedication, and sometimes delusion. And a lot of coffee. So. Much. Coffee.

Nervous Every Time

And, it’s personal. Every single time. Even when you are writing about the new dog poop ordinance passed by the city council (oh, yes I have) it is personal.

Because how you write it changes how others read it. What they know and feel. The meaning they derive. Your writing influences how people live, what they think, and how they act. It gives hope. Our stories hold possibility.

That’s a big responsibility.

That’s why I get nervous every time I hit “Send.”

I want these words to serve. To be authentic, truthful, and of value. To inspire, motivate, and inform. I want the writing to be good, and relevant. Never want to waste your time.

Full-time freelancing is a hard way to make an income. It’s not right for everyone. Probably not even most.

But for those who choose it, it is worthwhile. And yes, it is also possible to write and make money doing it.

Thank You, Madison WI

My writer’s life, like these Substack notes, is not polished. It’s not fancy or without frustration and error.

There have been more setbacks than bestseller lists (My first book Imperfect Spirituality was a runaway bestseller in Madison WI, just saying).

The job is meandering and uncertain, slow and frustrating. But also wild and exciting, fantastical, and mysterious.

Working and living as a writer can be true and practical and hard to believe. It is varied. Interesting. Meaningful.

But for it to matter most, we have to release our writing. Share it. Publish. Hit “send” whether we feel ready or not. Even when it feels raw and we feel exposed, we must let it go. Only then can it change the world.

-p

This week on the podcast the fantastic and very successful content marketing writer Jennifer Goforth Gregory talks about breaking in and building a writing career with a six-figure income.