Meth: a Ticking Timebomb Gone Viral

The Thing

I have a problem. You see, there's this 'thing' that happens every time I share a piece of my writing (and it is especially true when it comes to poetry) with someone. And it doesn't seem to matter if I have known them for five minutes or fifty years (literally). As most of you would be aware, it is very difficult to KNOW what a person is or is not going to like when it comes to art, and in a lot of ways (the main way being self-preservation), I will look back and regret not choosing something different to share with these seemingly silent types.

If I could have one wish (that was strictly for me and didn't involve ending world hunger or finding a cure for cancer), I would wish to know if every writer goes through the same thing as I do when it comes to sharing our work with others, which goes a little like this...we choose a piece we think they might enjoy, then send it to them and wait a week or two before realising there will be no reply forthcoming. Silence is for me the worst sound, and I hear it a lot.

This is probably paranoia, but it almost takes on a life of its own...where I will fill in the gaps and begin to imagine what they thought of the poem, and why they said nothing about it. I mean, even if they didn't like it and told me why, at least that is something...feedback to reflect on.

And, of course, in my attempt to understand, I will come up with, "Neil, the reason they didn't say anything was because they hated it." Or worse, they were indifferent, and it had absolutely no impact on them whatsoever. I understand that art is subjective, and the ideal way to share our work is to instead of sharing individual items, share our entire backlog and let them choose which piece fits into their idea of what good art is.

I know I should give without expectation...and that is how I should look at this. But, because I put so much thought and effort into my work, only to have it ignored, is a test I am failing badly.

I thought I would try an experiment...the couple from group, Ash and Tamara, with whom I am becoming better friends and seeing more regularly now that we are training together every second day, have become (unknowingly) my guinea pigs/crash test dummies, and this is the price they must pay for using my gym...that they must endure one poem before they are allowed entry. Tamara actually mentioned to the group on Tuesday night that I am a really good poet (as surprising as that was to her and everyone else). And so today, I went down a completely different route to the first poem I read to them both. This time I read "That Perfect Day"  and although the reaction to the first poem was good, this one got the reaction I have been waiting so long to hear. Once I had finished the recital, I received an invitation to their wedding...but only if I would recite that poem. And I couldn't ask for a better reaction than that.

The thing is though, if I had sent it in the usual way, the only thing I would have heard is crickets. This suggests that it isn't them not liking my work, but not bothering to read it...which is sad for all concerned and does nothing to make me feel any better about this 'thing' that has become such a problem.