Quality vs. Quantity 4/7/2024

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I had the pleasure and/or misfortune (it was a mixed bag of reaction for me really) one day last week I believe it was, to stumble upon something.  It was lost in the beautiful mess that is social media that I happened upon where, years ago, my husband had shared one of my old blogs. I went and read what he shared. It was quite an experience. I feel like I must have been having an excessively creative moment when I wrote it. Have you ever had that experience to look back at something you’ve done and be so impressed with what you accomplished and simultaneously feel like your production as of late is, well, subpar at best and miserable at best? Surely, I am not the only one who had that little ride on an emotional rollercoaster.  I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but it was at least, a piece of which I could be proud. Maybe other people who write, and I won’t go so far as to call myself a writer because that just sounds terribly pretentious as though I were weighted under the burdens of bestsellers, struggle with something similar. Then again, I could be a special odd case. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

It was a piece that was full of all the things that I love to write about.  It was all the things that make up who I am.  It was all the fibers that weave themselves into the fabric of the stories I tell. It was full of nostalgia and warmth. Reading it felt something like taking a sip of your favorite warm drink. It was comforting and familiar and one of those things that never cease to amaze you at how it always delivers the sensory experience that you are looking for. That is always one of my favorite things to do. I want to paint a picture with words. I remember in school when we were learning to write a descriptive paragraph. I do not think the teachers were fully prepared for the almost disconcerting number of words I could produce to describe the simplest of things. Don’t ask me to write persuasively. I could not sell a parachute to someone falling out of a plane (yes, hyperbolic statement, I know) but you ask me to describe something in painful, very nearly ridiculous detail and I am all for it.

I’ve always loved telling a story but, I would be lying if I didn’t say that I have always had the fear that I don’t really have anything to say. When I read this piece from the past it felt like I was really saying something. It felt like I was really pulling the reader in. My goodness I was the one that wrote it and I pulled myself in! True, the fact that I have a terrible memory probably helped it be so impactful, but that is beside the point.  I hit so many high points and covered all my favorite bases.  I said something and said it fairly well. Lately, even when I have what I think is a pretty good idea for my writing I feel like it gets lost in translation somewhere between my head and the keyboard.  I was happy to see that I had produced quality, and then immediately that mood fell off a cliff when the voice from deep in a hidden wardrobe door of my brain piped up that apparently it was a fluke because that’s not the type of content I had been producing as of late. Oh, that voice. You know the one. It’s so loud sometimes.

Since I was relatively young, I have been intoxicated by a beautifully told story and always wanted to do that. Every once in a blue moon, I stumble upon something I’ve written that both I and others liked.  I have always wanted to do the full hard labor and write a novel. Then I wonder what in blue blazes I could fill several hundred pages with other than very wordy rambling. I want to tell a story though. I don’t want it to be just a revisit of a story told a dozen times. I want it to feel like me. Wow. I can’t decide if that was a conceited comment or a tad on the pathetic side. I suppose what I mean is I want people who know me to be able to read this story and nod their head.  There may also be a smirk as they say to themselves, “Well that is her if ever I read it.”  I don’t need it to make me famous or rich. Honestly, I don’t even need it to be published or anything of the sort. I just want to give someone else the heady exhilaration that I get when I read a tale that is nothing short of art. I want to be in love with the protagonist. I want a villain so good at being bad that if he existed, I would punch him on sight. I want to create that same feeling you get when you hear that song that never gets old. Or better yet and to be very specific, I want to write something that gives you the same sensation that you get when you eat something that is your absolute favorite dish. And not only is the flavor something you crave but it was made by someone who totally gets you and knows how to add that extra dash of this and just a touch less of that so that while the recipe may not exist it is exactly what you wanted, and you can taste every drop of care and purposefulness that went into creating it just so. That. That is what I want to write.

As I am writing this my computer is giving me multiple suggestions to make my writing more concise, in other words, less wordy. I can’t help but chuckle. Though I use the same program every week, it is clearly not a regular reader. Succinct is very much not my style. Maybe that will serve me well if I ever do come up with the perfect story to tell. If I don’t describe it to death, I will definitely have a decent word count if that is important. Because I am nothing if not wordy.  Now, if I can just find the time and inspiration to put my copious amounts of language to work evoking something in a reader akin to their favorite grandma making their favorite cake exactly how they like it, I will be on to something. Those will be words put to good use.