"No one will ever love your stories as much as you do..."

A college friend of mine passed away over the weekend. It was quick, sudden, unexpected. He was someone who was loved by all. And while I mourn the loss of the friend I knew in college and pray for his family and close friends, I also — selfishly — mourn my failed plans to go visit he and his wife (another college friend) some day and show them the story with the character based on him. Mourn sharing the remembrances I have of asking him (one of my first adult friends I confided my need to write stories to — one of my first adult "geek" friends who unapologetically loved scifi, fantasy, and superheroes) about space/time continuums and how he thought they might work.

But that is not about the man. That is about the story. And going through that realization reminded me of this saying:

"No one will ever love your stories as much as you do..."

I remember reading or hearing that somewhere in some writers thing and immediately my brain, focusing on the absoluteness of the statement, came up with all the arguments about how that couldn't be true. For example, there are lots of stories that a reader will focus on because of something in their own life and the writer, once that story or poem is out there, lets it go to have a life of its own. And there have been stories I wasn't sure I liked at all, that other people who read them loved. So, when I first encountered that statement my kneejerk reaction was to reject it.

But now I understand the statement a little more. Stories are a little like children (especially novels). And every parent/child relationship is different, and that is a little bit what it is like. No one loves a baby like their mother or father. No one else woke up in the middle of the night with an idea about that story. No one else watched the main character morph and grow into his or her final self as they went through the story. No one cried and screamed and stayed up until 3 a.m. with that story. You. The writer did.

And yes, by the end of that story, you are so over it. You have spent sooooo much time with that story you can't wait for it to get out of the house. Like a teenage boy driving his parents nuts, you want to shove the story out the door and tell it to go get a job or play ball in the street or SOMETHING. But, like the teenage son (or daughter), if you shove it out the door, send it out to other people before it's ready, then you might be asking for trouble. And some stories, like children, take longer to get out the door than others. That's life.

I confess. I have had a tendency to use the submissions process as a sort of pro tem source of feedback for my stories and poems in the past. I'd do the best I could, get a sketch of feedback from friends, rip through the proof and then send it out. And cry when it wasn't accepted. But then in the meantime, after all that time out in the world, I could look at the story and see aaaaalllll the mistakes. And then if there were editor's comments, there were even others pointed out. I had sent my poor child out into the world without his or her galoshes and raincoat. I had forgotten to straighten their jacket and remind them to say please and thank you. It wasn't the story's fault it had failed, poor thing. It was mine!

I used to say, and still kind of think, that you don't exist in writer world unless you have a submission out there to show editors you still are around. So, I used to feel this pressure to always keep something out there. "Don't forget me! Remember I am out here writing. Like my stories and poetry!"

But I've been learning that pushing stories and poetry out there too soon is like pushing your kids out in the crosswalk before teaching them how to look both ways. Sometimes it's just good to enjoy this creation you're creating. Don't think about where it will go and what it will do. Revel in the creation and the shaping and the editing and revisions. Really take time with the proofing and the feedback from friends and the research to get things right. Just spend time and sink into the world. It will leave your hands soon enough, most likely.

In the meantime, just love your children. Because no one else will love that story like you do.