It’s not bleeding enough: why 2017 is taking me away from the things that keep me safe

If it bleeds, it leads.

In journalism, what’s most important goes first—on the front page, in the first words of a headline, in the first sentences of a paragraph. Find what will hook the reader and then let the information fan out through the story, all the way down to the least impactful (but still relevant) information.

The last two years, after looking at pages of manuscripts, I’ve told my fair share of established and budding authors: It’s not bleeding enough.

It’s an uncomfortable role at times. Telling someone that they’re not telling enough of the truth, enough of the story, enough of themselves. I push them onto the cliff’s edge and say, “Don’t come back until it’s bleeding.” They write, they re-write, they edit, they moan in emails to me. But in the end, they all say the process was rewarding, especially when they see their books being sold. But there is always a point where my job is to insist they tell me more, they dig deeper, or we don’t print.

Editors are sticklers like that, and I am the stickliest of all when it comes to my own writing, even my own life. For years I lived with a red pen in my hand, carefully editing each decision, each new diet, each job change, each new relationship. Over time, editors can become hardened because without some significantly thick skin, we’ll overlook the place where a story ought to bleed just a little bit more. For me, the line between editor and human had been blurry most days, that is, until one day, it wasn’t. And I realized that I was demanding from my clients what I wasn’t demanding of myself: guts, gumption, and a second, third and fourth draft.

Instead of writing my own story, I’ve been helping others tell theirs. If you’re familiar with The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron talks about shadow artists, which are fed by wallowing in the leftovers of our true artistic talents. My own Shadow Artist has been kept alive by giving my best writing and editing to others and giving the leftovers to myself. And then when my leftovers disappoint me, I turn this into fuel for remaining in the shadows. In 2017, it’s time for something different.

Before a writer may sit down to write, she must first stand up to live. Instead of trying to book 40 hours a week in editing or writing assignments, nine weeks of 2017 will be spent getting my certification in meditation instruction. The old editor in me would have a business plan already mapped out for how I’ll pair meditation instruction with writing coaching, but there's no joy in this OCD House. I have a hunch that meditation could really benefit some of my writing clients, if they’re interested in it, of course. I know it’s helped me tremendously over the last several years. Maybe I could offer writing coaching with meditation instruction to authors? Maybe not. I have no idea. Additionally, I’ve signed up to volunteer at Children’s Hospital in Dallas. When the volunteer coordinator asked about my skills, I said, “Well, I’m in marketing consulting and editing, but I’d really just like to work with the kids reading stories…” And you know what else I’ve been thinking about? Cooking. I’d love to take an intermediate course to really brighten up my kitchen skills.

The editor in my mind wants to tell you how this is all obviously very elementary, baby steps, small personal growth stuff … but the truth is this is huge. I’m not building my 2017 around billable hours and brief moments of satisfaction. I’m trying to dig deeper and find a different place to look at life from. Maybe then, I’ll pick up the pen and have more than leftovers to update you on. Until then, I wish you all a wonderful start to the new year.