My sweetheart voice. My sweetheart. That sounds so dear. Though under the scrutiny of the editor it has sounded frail, of little substance, fluffy.
Each time I speak, or read my writings, or produce something of myself, I get a dazzling little glimmer of more to come, a flash of new horizons yet to explore; but this is seen through a war zone wrought by the editor – throwing digs, analyzing my verbiage, telling me straight out that what I have to say is trivial and that the entire world will be assured of the fact as soon as I open my mouth.
Now, I’ve heard that tone before. I’ve lived through years of hearing it daily, and have taken steps to remove those personages with that voice from my personal space in whatever form they might take, whether it be my mother, sister, husband, lover, or boss. It simply isn’t allowed around me anymore. But today I see that “around” may be the key word here. It is not around me, but in me, and so it can really only be as damaging as I allowed it.
So… next time I’m asked to speak or read, I’ll practise first. (The editor says I’ve misspelled practice.) So next time when I step up to the podium, or share my writing here in class, I may knock the wind out of the editor and just go for broke, find the silver lining, grab for the brass ring, let the chips fall where they may, cry over spilt milk, piss in the wind….
And what will come of this? Will I feel less fragile? Will I gain substance? Will I lose the pink boa?
Maybe – or at the very worst, I’ll get my sneakers wet.
And now – all this drama over the little editor, who, if she were doing her job, would be hunting up good story lines, dotting all the “I”s, and spending her time on composition rather than hurling jealous remarks at my already battered ego.
Perhaps I (my sweetheart) should console this editor. Perhaps come up with a cuddly nickname, something befitting a declawed kitten. Help her to believe that her job is terribly important and, though necessarily unglamorous, she might take all the bows. And I’ll only charge her $35 for this session, to show I really care and feel she can succeed.