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Itās been just about a year since I started writing this publication in earnest.
Iād just been laid off, and itās hard to over-state just how badly I needed an outlet like this one: the job market in Tech in late 2022 was remarkably difficult to penetrate, and each rejection letter was a forceful flick in the throat. Sitting at home, no friends to talk to, getting flicked in the throat. Thatās joblessness. Itās exactly as sad as it sounds.
So I picked up writing and started putting pen to paper, publishing a shitty first-draft every week. Some were better than others, and I got just enough encouragement to keep publishing. As I write this, Iāve published 49 pieces of writing. This is the 50th.
So today, temples throbbing from last nightās open bar, airborne and en route to a work conference, stuffed in an overcrowded Boeing-branded shoebox (complete with the grimy textures, sauna-like temperatures, and eye-stinging smells of an actual shoebox), I have a few things to share that those 49 pieces have surfaced.
We like it if we can feel it. Flicked in the throat is just unpleasant enough that you can picture the sensation, and you can feel how the unpleasantness builds as more and more rejection letters pile in. Wherever possible, show, donāt tell.
Writing a publication and growing your reader base are extremely different skillsets. For me, the latter is way harder.
If your writing really sucks, people donāt judge it. They ignore it. Attention is scarce, and we donāt give it to things that donāt deserve it. People donāt ālove or hateā your work, they either love it or donāt know it at all.
That said, an ignored piece of writing is a ball that goes flat: like, what a fucking bummer.
But thereās a game there: itās really difficult to know which pieces of writing will resonate with others. Iāve poured hours of effort into pieces that fell flat, and slapped out quick paragraphs that received a ton of praise (surprise winners include this and this, for example).
Iāve been training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for the last six years, and Jiu-Jitsu is a sport of attrition: the ones who become black belts arenāt the most talented athletes, theyāre just the white belts who stuck around the longest. Itās almost a mantra, at this point. A game of attrition. It makes total sense: after a thousand reps, you canāt help but shed some sloppiness and improve. A year and fifty pieces later, I still feel like a white belt. Inexperienced and sloppy. But itās a game of attrition. 950 pieces to go.
Written from the heart.