For the most part, when I write a new post, I just write it out and hope my spell checker catches any horrifying guffaws. I apologize for anything that gets through. I’m quite adept at making computers think I know English. Really, it’s a talent.
When I write anything else, though, I get all nervous. It makes me start thinking people will judge me or something. I know, it’s probably pretty crazy to think about things like that, but there I am. Looking at every little detail, thinking in the back of my head with the little voice that doesn’t automatically assume that every thing I do is chalk full of awesome that obviously something has gone horribly wrong. At that point, I turn to my most trusted editors and critics: My older brother, my best friend, and my father.
My Older Brother – Brutally Honest about my Crazy Brain
I think it is his job as my brother to smack me around a little and knock me down a few pegs if I get too big for my britches. Generally, I can count on him to let me know if I’ve set down and put a couple of hundred words of jumbled gibberish on paper. He’s great at critiquing the flow of my writing and letting me know if I’ve let my ADD get the better of me.
He can also be incredibly torturous in his criticism of my dialogue, which is good, because I suck at that.
My Best Friend – Brutally Honest about my Inferior Grasp of the English Language.
I’m am bad at spelling and have a tendency to use the wrong version of a homonym. He has an ability to not only point these things out but make me feel a deep, powerful shame for them. This is good, because it helps me remember to not make the same mistake in the future.
It also falls into his duties to let me know if I’m being to heavy handed in my verbosity.
My Dad – Brutally Honest about when I’m being a big Wuss
Sometimes, I let the fear of what other people might think of me hold me back when I should go for broke. Even worse, sometimes I have an irrational fear that someone is going to read something I say on the internet, hunt me down in my home proceed to brutally murder me with a large axe.
My father won’t have any of that silly “self-preservation” nonsense. It’s impractical, and it’s dishonest. Being dishonest is worse than being dead, and being dishonest to yourself is even worse than that. It’s good to have someone that can point that out to me, especially someone that I know I can trust completely.
I think I am blessed to have such a great group of people I can rely on. The support network I’ve built up over the years has been crucial in keeping me going in more ways than one.
Who do you rely on when you need a kick in the pants?