Feedback Fuel

I bared my soul and someone applauded.

So I’ve kept on writing, for better or less better, because that’s what motivates someone to keep on keeping on, feedback. Would any musician, artist, writer or ditch-digger do their best to carry on if no-one said “Hey, that’s pretty good!” I’m still searching for the ‘why’ as in “why don’t managers of endeavours mundane and more give (free!) positive feedback to people that are doing just what you asked them to do?” Paycheques look exactly the same but those with positive feedback leave with a lot more and show up early on Monday morning.

I feel a rant coming on. I can put that aside to say “Thank You” for all the positive feedback I’ve received since starting this blog. I’ve never seen myself as a writer, still don’t, but when someone says “Hey” I want to keep hitting the keys. Nothing is more motivating than someone other than myself saying “I like that”. It’s energizing beyond my comprehension.

There was a lady helping out with track and field practice when I was in elementary school. I tried the long jump for the first time and beetled down the track as fast as my tiny legs would carry me. Where track stopped and sand began I leapt and soared a few feet. I didn’t know if it was good or bad but I heard her voice: “Wow! That’s really good. Next.” I got in the back of the line to await my next turn and as I got to the front I heard her say: “Here he is. Here comes our star”. And I felt like a star. I’d found my calling. My parents would be so proud they’d tell their friends. Maybe a TV station would get wind of me and let the world know I existed.

It wasn’t until I got to high school and tried out for track and field that I discovered I was rubbish at that and most other sports mostly because most sports favour larger people. And because I don’t have the athletic intelligence needed to be successful. But I tried and kept on trying because in grade six that lady told me I was a star. I tried basketball (I’m 5’6”) and never got past the tryouts. I tried football (I was maybe 145 lbs) and kept getting knocked down until eventually stopped getting back up. I settled on wrestling because I only had to fight guys in my own weight class but even there I lacked the killer instinct necessary to win many matches. But for six years I tried because someone told me I was a star.

I recently submitted two of my stories to the annual CBC writer’s competition. They get something like 10,000 entries per year so I’m not holding my breath but it’s something I never would have ventured if someone hadn’t said “Wow! That’s really good”. So I’ll keep y’all posted as I await the call from Margaret Atwood.