After the Silence – Part 9

Some days, I use these posts to share uplifting things.  Sometimes it’s funny slice-of-life moments that all parents experience.  Occasionally, however, I use this space to share with you my mistakes.

Mostly so you don’t have to make them, too.

Writing, as I have come to understand the profession from personal experience and research, is built upon personal relationships.  Relationships between you and your readers, between you and your agent, between you and your publishers, and between you and other authors.

In the world of relationships, trust is king.  It is the cornerstone atop which all else is built.  If you cannot trust the other party, then your relationship is a sand castle awaiting the tide.

I gave my word to another author.  I told them, without prevarication, that I would help review their manuscript.  It is a labor of love which has been years in the making.  I gave my word despite knowing that I read at a glacial pace.  I proceeded regardless of the knowledge that I had my own writing schedule to keep.  I accepted the request for my time and my attention because the author in question is my friend, and I owe it to them to aid their career however I am able.

I broke my promise to my friend.

I didn’t make it enough of a priority.  I kept pushing it off and pushing it off until, in the end, I managed to get commentary back on just seven pages.  There were five hundred and nineteen in total.  I managed to provide commentary on a shade over 1% of them.

That is unacceptable.  Unacceptable for my friend, who is desperate to get feedback on their work.  Unacceptable for me, a grown-ass adult who couldn’t get his priorities in order enough to turn in more than one freaking percent of the promised review.

My wife, bless her soul, has done her best to talk me off the cliff on this one.  No, I’m not a terrible person.  Yes, other authors struggle with this as well.  Yes, my grandmother did die during the time I was supposed to be working on this, as well as other time sensitive obligations.

Those excuses feel disingenuous and hollow.

There have now been three separate opportunities in my career for me to demonstrate to others that I can be relied upon.

I am now zero for three.

There is nothing left for me to do about it but to pick up the pieces, accept any changes to our relationship that my friend deems necessary, and keep on keeping on.  No matter how I feel, no matter how much it hurts, there are two choices every single time something like this happens: write or quit.  That is the sadistic choice those of us demented enough to do this must face every day, with every new development.

So, on to the writing, heavy heart and guilty conscience notwithstanding.

After the Silence – Part 9

The story screams, for it knows not if it has been deleted, or if it was ever there.

The Unsheathed Quill