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Showing Your Writing to Others
Jackie Hosking

Here's a question: why do you write?

And here's another one: who reads it?


When I was seventeen, I wrote a poem, my first poem that was

not set as part of the school curriculum. I'd been reading

something by Lewis Carroll and I'd also just finished

"Waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett and I felt compelled

to write a poem where every line contradicted itself. It was

a challenge that I set myself - just for fun. The poem

began:

A Christmas tree stood on the beach

Within my grasp but out of reach

I completed the poem a few days later, during an English

lesson, and was so thrilled with it that I immediately

jumped up from my chair and thrust it under the nose of my

teacher. I stood beside him, trembling as he read and when

he finished, he handed it back to me and said dismissively,

"I wrote something very similar when I was in love."


I was reminded of this incident while answering a

questionnaire recently. The question I was asked was:


"Do you remember the first time you showed your writing

to someone? Did their reaction have an impact on you?"


My answer was, yes I do remember and yes his reaction did

have an impact on me. I didn't show my writing to anyone

else for seventeen years. Since answering that question

though, a million more have flowed. Why was I affected so

adversely? Why did I need his approval? Who did I write it

for anyway? And here's what I've discovered. "Consequence",

the title of the poem, began as a personal challenge and I

loved every minute that I worked on it. I was present in the

moment - I was truly living. But it wasn't enough. I needed

to share.


Let me explain - with an analogy, 'cause I like analogies.

Writing is a bit like giving birth only more painful! You

grow your story or your poem or your rant inside you, and

eventually it has to come out. You have a birth - day and

you celebrate. You are thrilled with your creation - your

baby - no matter how ugly it is. But here's where the

similarities end. In the world of writing, everyone's a

critic and to survive you need to grow, borrow or steal a

very thick skin. It took me seventeen years to grow mine but

eventually after actually giving birth three times, I had

the guts to show someone else what I'd written. His reaction

was quite different and that's why you're reading about it

today.


So who reads your writing? Have you taken the plunge and

submitted your work to a competition or a magazine or your

local newspaper? Have you been rejected?


Rejected. Now there's a word. Let's look at some of the

words that are tossed around the writing world shall we?


From The Concise Oxford Dictionary

Submit: When we submit our work what exactly

does that mean? Here's one definition - To give away,

resign oneself, yield, cease or abstain from resistance.

To surrender. Of course I've chosen the third definition

to make my point but you get my point.


Rejection: Sent back as not to be accepted.

Vomit! (Hmmmm)


Acceptance: Favourable reception; approval,

belief, toleration. Isn't that what all want? And wasn't

that was what I was looking for all those years ago?

The thing is, as writers, we set ourselves apart and yet

we desperately seek acceptance, so to write and not submit,

in my opinion, is to live only half a writer's life.


So I ask again. Who is reading your writing?


I'll bet you've guessed by now what your homework is. Go on.

Don't be afraid. You have absolutely nothing to lose. What's

the worst than can happen? Your work is rejected? So what!

Think of it this way. Rejected or not it has been caressed

by another's eyes. You wouldn't hide a real baby from the

world so don't deny yourself.


Last year I was asked to participate in The Overload Poetry

Festival. I was invited to read my poetry alongside real

poets such as Graeme Kinross-Smith, Matt Hetherington and

Kerry Scuffins. How I got to be invited is another story;

suffice to say, I was extremely flattered not to mention

extremely petrified. But I did it, not because I think my

work is brilliant but because I didn't want to deny myself

the experience and isn't that what life is all about -

experience?


So take the plunge. Deny yourself no longer!


Okay, before I go, I'd like to share with you the rest of

my first rejected poem - "Consequence"

Now be gentle with me - I was only seventeen…

Consequence


A Christmas tree stood on the beach

Within my grasp but out of reach.

And so I asked a maiden fair

If she could see it standing there.

Her loud reply I could not hear

Although she said it very clear

And so I watched her disappear

Into the night, into the day.

And then I looked to Hell to say

Dear God the moon is boiling hot,

It chills my bones and that is not

The only thing I have to say

And so I turned and walked away.


A year or two has passed by me

And slipped behind the Christmas tree

Standing there all charred and black

Quite in my way but off the track

That I have chosen to explore

But it's too short and what is more

It's far too long for I can see

The end of it ahead of me.

And so I'll sit while I decide

If it's too long or short or wide

Or whether I'll just go and hide,

Yes that seems the thing for me

And so I rested by the tree.


I rested for a while or so

How long exactly I don't know.

I sat around and passed the time

As that is all I have that's mine.

For time is just a passing phase

That can be passed in many ways.

It can be served and wasted too

If that's what you choose to do.

But that decision's up to you

But here I sit and here I'll stay

Because it seems the safer way.

I'd rather sit upon the fence

Than take the risk of consequence.


© copyright Jackie

Hosking

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