the power of practice

and reflections on growth!

Hello, Dear Readers—both the New and the Not-So-New!

Welcome to my weekly post. ✍️ If you are new here, thank you for trusting me to deliver something of value. I started this account just over 18 months ago as a way to document the (at the time ongoing) dissolution of my marriage. I wanted a tangible record of how I was spending my days—quite literally, what I was reading, watching on television, listening to. I wanted to know how many walks I took, and with whom, and what (if anything) made me laugh. 2020 was a pivotal year for me for so many reasons, beyond the pandemic and my separation, and, while I managed to keep writing during that year, I was actually writing not at all about the things that were happening in real time. Eventually, I realized all that I had lost by not journaling during those months, by not keeping an accounting that I could hold in my hands and say, This was how I got through. This was how I survived.

sunset over Watershed Nature Preserve, October 2024

Fast forward to now, and many of you are here because you’ve read one or more of my Notes and decided to give my newsletter a try, as well! If that is you, thank you! Quite literally, I could not be more thrilled!

Perhaps unsurprisingly, as my work has begun to reach more and more viewers, I’ve had to navigate a handful of less-than-generous comments. So far, in addition to the uplifting and inspiring words of encouragement and curiosity that make up the vast majority of comments, my work has also been called dumb, narcissistic, unkind, and thoughtless. I say “work,” because that is how I see it (see below). The commenters, however, I suspect are referring to *me—the real live person behind the words.

Initially, I subscribed to the Substack philosophy of “responding to every commenter.” I suspect many of you know what I’m talking about—the frequency of “how to grow your Substack” posts proliferating on this corner of the interwebs that include this admonition as part of their advice. The philosophy—not a bad one!—is that we unknown writers should respond to all comments. The thinking is that we want to thank folks for stopping by. (We do!) We want to acknowledge that, in our constantly distracted states, spending even a few moments of reflection on another person’s work is powerful, and deserving of recognition. (It is!) We want, also, to grow our community—to nurture a space where our readers co-create a space of artistic pleasure, creativity, and excitement. (We definitely do!)

So, when the more negative comments started rolling in, I felt a bit stymied. How to respond? At first, I responded, quite honestly, by simply thanking people for reading. I am, of course, grateful to anyone who reads my work, regardless of how they come to feel about it. Eventually, as a few more negative comments gathered steam, I asked other writers from small accounts how they handled them and received some wonderfully wise words! Including the reminder that I can trust my body—my felt sense—to help me navigate this; that I owe no one anything; and that it is okay not to know, exactly, how to respond, but that I can feel it out as my audience grows, and I grow in response. To everyone who commented on that thread, thank you!

It’s worth pointing out here that I very much subscribe to the belief that a piece of writing is a work of art, no more or less than a painting on a wall, a sculpture in a potter’s kiln, or an orchestra playing a composition. The important commonality here is that these works of art are NOT their creator. They are, in fact, made things that live out in the world, on their own, not tethered to the living, breathing human who made them. I might write one day that chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream is my favorite, but then walk into an ice cream parlor and decide butter pecan is my favorite. I’m human: I’m allowed to change my mind. But the “thing” that I made? That can go on existing with chocolate chip cookie dough in the number one spot for eternity! Subscribing to this belief really does help me stay calm in the face of so-called negative responses. The commenters are replying to something on the page. They are not responding to me as a person, because they don’t even know me.

Similarly, one of the biggest lessons my writing teachers have instilled in me over the last several years is the idea that I simply cannot control how my work is received. Whether that is by commenters here on Substack, editors at literary journals, or agents I’ve queried. There are a zillion reasons why my work might not resonate with another reader… and that is just fine! Other people’s opinions of my work are nothing that I need to worry about. The only thing I can do is return to the practice of writing in the first place. I control if I show up, how often, and with what energy. I control how I practice my craft, what I read, how I study, and how I challenge myself. I control the act of creation itself, and sending it out into the world if I so wish. After that, though? Not my problem.

I know it is one thing to say those words, and quite another to really feel that acceptance on a bodily level. It’s a constant practice! None of this is to say that rejection doesn’t sting, or that reading an inflammatory comment elicits no reaction from me—it certainly does! But with practice, I’ve learned to move through that frustration and disappointment relatively quickly—ie, maybe a couple of hours? (Perhaps a couple of days if it was a journal or contest I was really excited about! 😆 )

But here’s the final observation I want to offer: a few very generous commenters have mentioned how kind they think I am with my response to feedback, even to the aforementioned undesirable feedback. And while I am grateful for that show of support, I also want to point out that I’m not always so optimistic and open-hearted! Just ask my children! Ask the man I’m dating! Ask my friends! I can be as petty as the next person—mean-spirited and spiteful and narrow-minded. After all, we are never just one thing. We never exist on only one end of the spectrum. Each of us is both generous and stingy, kind and unkind, constructive and destructive. Just because I’m able to show up with compassion and empathy to challenging comments does not mean I am *always compassionate, or *always empathetic. Because I’m not! I’m human.

Thanks, as always, to all of you for reading, cheering me, and subscribing. If upgrading to a paid subscription is within your budget, and something you feel inclined to do, I would be so grateful. If you're new here, please leave a note in the comments to introduce yourself. I’d love to know more about you!

xoxo, F