What to do when someone tells you that you are a shit writer

Life has been quite challenging the last couple of months. There are other things going on in our lives, but what keeps me up at night a bit is work and finding more work.

You see, I lost a regular client after they hired a full time staff that can write the articles they usually send to freelance writers like me. That’s a lot of money gone. Like a lot.

That would have been okay had I not received a confidence-crushing email from the new editor they hired, telling me about my shitty work.

First off, let me give you my initial thoughts the first time I read his email. Everything else became blurry. What came into focus was that my writing was shitty and not worth the money I’m charging them.

I auto replied (meaning, I automatically replied without giving myself time to think and be calm) and sent out what I thought was a pretty sarcastic snappy reply to the editor. (It turns out he found it quite balanced – hahaha, I don’t even know how to be sarcastic!).

When my blood finally stopped boiling and I’ve hugged my daughter 5,000 times to calm me down, I read his email again together with the comments he placed on my latest article.

And it hit me. He was right. He was abso-freaking-lutely right.

After re-reading the email, I realised he was telling me this: he’s not a fan of my writing yet but he could be if I worked harder at it. The initial thoughts I mentioned above weren’t even written there on the email. It was my angry ego reading between the lines.

His notes were spot on and it rubbed me raw because my laziness seeped through my work. I was lazy when I wrote that article, and to be honest, probably the last two or three articles before that.

I was letting myself go, I think mainly because no one was challenging me about my work.

After that calmness sunk in, I wrote him another email – honest and true. He replied the next day saying he appreciated both my emails and that I had every right to be mad. He also said that now that the hard stuff is out of the way, we could work on the stuff that I write from now on (well, whatever else they give me anyway given I don’t have much work from them anymore).

I could have gone through a self-pity phase. I could have given up on my career (and at one point I did ask hubby if he’d be okay if I just change careers altogether – maybe start cooking or baking or sewing or something). But instead, I dusted myself off, tucked in my protruding ego and enrolled myself to a refresher course at the Australian Writers’ Centre – something that I wanted to do last year but kept putting it off.

After that, I mass emailed every single magazine I knew until I got a couple of replies that will hopefully fill in the hole that the previous publications have left gaping wide open.

Honestly, that editor could have said his piece better but I think he was trying to keep it in until he couldn’t anymore. I did tell him he should have said something earlier on before it came to a point where my articles “shortened his lifespan” (yep, I emailed that to him – pretty smart eh?).

I don’t know if I’ll hear from him again given that I don’t write for them that often anymore. But in a way, I am grateful for his email. It was the kick in the butt that I needed to zing my mojo again. I think I’m on the right track now (I’m still considering doing the cooking sideline job though).

P.S Check out the free eBook on my sidebar from Alrighty Then Mama!

The CEO formula

I’ve interviewed so many CEOs and successful business owners in my line of work. These are people from different industries too – from construction to earthmoving to car industry and landscaping and so on. I use the same questions on my interviews, just tweaking it a bit based on their backgrounds.

But I sometimes think I could just copy and paste some of their answers because they are so similar that it’s freaky.

Basically, from what I gathered, the formula is simple.

  • They all have very supportive partners.
  • They all have a drive and vision on what they want with their company.
  • They all have the smarts for calculated risks and caring for their money (most of these people have put their own houses up as collateral for their businesses).
  • They all say they have a hard time balancing work and family life.
  • They all say they work hard, like 6am to 6pm hard or even worse hours sometimes.
  • They all have the same passion for their industry. Like super passion, not just for the money.
  • And they all say that had it not been for their partners taking care of the home side of things, they wouldn’t have been able to do what they were able to do.

There’s a formula there. It’s quite obvious. It’s just a matter of whether or not you have it. Or if it’s something you’d want to do.

The short talk that became a long talk

I sat there, throat dry, bladder empty but still with the urgent desire to pee — nervous.

I’ve never been that afraid of public speaking, but only because before a speaking engagement I make myself aware of everything I need to know – the topic, the audience, the program – way ahead of time.

But this one wasn’t the short and simple “talk” I was expecting.

The scheduled meeting was with some students interested with communication and journalism. I dressed casually (I didn’t bring any decent clothes with me – it was a tropical holiday) with the huge tattoo on my back exposed for all the students to see, only to realise the casual “talk” was actually a bit more formal than I expected.

They handed me the printed program – with opening and closing remarks and a “handing of certificate of appreciation” bit. The vice president of academic affairs was there too.

I looked at my speech and realised the opening parts were longer than my “talk”. Before I left for the Philippines, I quickly jotted down points that might be of interest to the students. As I didn’t expect any formality to it, I thought I would just answer their questions after expressing my points.

So there I was, in front of around 50 students, talking about integrity in communication. I had to wing it, as usual, and stretch out my talk instead of just shoot my bullet points through.

In the end it worked out well. I answered a lot of their questions during the open forum and expressed my honest opinions and observations about the Philippine media, and compared it to my experience with the Australian media. I even cracked jokes – effective ones since they all laughed (I’m a natural comedian, ahem).

I spoke in English because apparently students are required to speak in English when they’re in the school. The nerves melted away after the first paragraph. They were eager to know what I thought, and wanted to get my opinion on a lot of things, including how to speak better especially when on the job (practice, practice, practice).

I sounded confident, they said. But I did have moments when I questioned why I was giving the talk. I’m not famous, nor am I rich. What could I possibly offer to them?

Then a friend pointed out that I do have something to share. I may not be famous or rich but I did go through an enormous about of experience in my field, both in my own country and in other countries. I do have some authority to talk about my own experience because, well, it is my own experience. And if even just one of them learned something they could take with them after they graduate, then that’s good enough for me.

Side note: Before the program started I asked a couple of my father’s students what he was like as a teacher. They all said he rarely smiles and is very serious – something which has never changed since the first day he started teaching over 15 years ago. But they said they did notice a difference in the last couple of months. He has become more approachable and he smiles more. I told the students it’s because he knew he was seeing his grandchild again.

The mother of former glories

A repost:

The ability to work from home to be with MiniMe is one of the best gifts I’ve been given. I am grateful that we are in a good situation and that I don’t have to do full time work. But because of my current day job, this renders me boring during social gatherings.

“What do you do?”

“I work from home as freelance blah di blah…” is my usual answer.

And because I’m not surrounded with interesting work mates, or deal with chaotic office politics, or experience the daily hazards of commuting, I have nothing to share.

In most days, that is true. I’m not comfortable telling some random acquaintance that my daughter’s poo has changed colour. It really is none of their business, and I don’t want them to gag in the middle of a social gathering.

But it’s pointless to try and prove to the world that you are more than just a skirt full of baby food spill and a nappy changing machine.

So the list below is for me, to remind myself that I am awesome. And yes, mothers of the world, we are legen – wait for it – dary. LEGENDARY!

  • I used to ride choppers around Mindanao to cover stories on rebel insurgencies, attempted bombings, political rivalries, fires, and so on.
  • I stayed up for over 24 hours to cover a national election.
  • I used to have politicians and bigwigs on my phone’s speed dial, and as text mates.
  • I got my international masters degree scholarship on my own merit .
  • I used to write, direct and host TV shows.
  • I’ve had several photography exhibits in Australia and the Philippines, had several of my photos win something somewhere, and had several of my photos published in magazines in Oz and the Philippines.
  • The New York Times used to follow my stories for publishing on their site.

Just because I now wipe my baby’s bottom, doesn’t mean I am less interesting nor am I less awesome. Who knows, I’m probably raising the future Prime Minister of Australia.

My life as a journalist Part 4: The Dark side of Life

I think it takes a certain kind of person to become a journalist and be able to sustain working in the industry without needing a therapist (or maybe every now and then).

As much as I loved my experiences as a rough and tumble journo, I really do cherish where I am now. I can’t do that same job anymore. I’d be a wreck, physically and emotionally and I really don’t want to put myself into those kinds of situations.

My past sounds exciting and tough, and it was. That’s why I don’t have any qualms saying I am a real journalist because I know what I went through. When I came to Australia and got rejected by companies over and over again (because I didn’t have local experience), it barely dampened my confidence because I knew that I went through more than most of the journos here at my age. They just rejected me because of a technicality.

Still, I don’t want to go back to that job. I had so many emotionally draining moments, life threatening moments, morally reprehensible moments – ones that I don’t want my daughter to emulate.

On my first year on the job, I was first on the site when they found the body of a teenage boy no more than 14 years old. There was a wire around his neck, barely hanging from the roof of the school’s gymnasium. I was witness to the product of what seemed like bullying/gang hazing gone terribly awry. I’ve never seen anyone dead before that — and that was a sight I’d rather forget. We reported it. It was our job.

Another unsavoury coverage was of a sailor who died in international waters as their boat sank after a storm. I watched as his child and wife wailed in pain at the wooden box being carried off the plane. It was the sailor’s first trip in an international ship – a decision they had to make even if they would be apart for long periods of time. He wanted to provide for his family and international ships pay more than local ones. They never expected that his first trip would be his last. I stood in the corner clutching my microphone, dreading the interview that I needed to do. I whispered to Paps, my cameraman, that I couldn’t do the interview and he pushed me.

“I know it’s hard, but it’s your job. Don’t think about it. Just breathe and suck it up. When it’s done, you can cry in the car.”

And that’s just what I did. I asked the proverbial stupid question of “how do you feel?” because it was required of me. But in my head I was begging for her to scream at me “how do I feel? What do you think you stupid journalist?! My husband is in this box, bloated with sea water!”

But she was kind and accommodating and she answered all my stupid questions in between sobs.

I’ve never seen a drowned body before. He was bloated almost beyond recognition. I left the scene and sat quietly in the car.

Yet another horrible coverage was one of my fire stories. Several houses were burned down after some electrical malfunction (almost a normal occurrence given the poor electrical infrastructure in the Philippines), and one of the parents threw his son out of a two-storey window to save him. The kid was no more than five years old and half of his body was badly burnt. Have you smelt burnt human flesh? It smells like pork barbecue. I watched as they carried the boy away, crying in pain, looking for his parents who didn’t make it. All the time I was thinking I wanted pork for lunch.

Next stop, my realisation that I was transitioning into a heartless wench.

My life as a journalist Part 3

I got over the helicopter peeing incident after quite some time. It finally died down when I got more and more exclusive stories from the military. I eventually got accepted as a serious journalist, and not just another newbie who can’t hack it.

Within a couple of weeks, I became a regular in that helicopter. I felt confident riding that thing almost every other week for nine months. It was all becoming second nature, and the flights always ran smoothly. But my confidence was shaken a bit when one day, I flew with another journalist who writes for the local paper. He was one of my father’s old mentee and he was so glad to be covering a story with me -– someone who used to run around in their office as a kid while they pulled an all-nighter. He said that when he first started out 10 years ago, they used the same helicopter. In fact, my father mentioned to him that he rode the same helicopter when he was a greenhorn himself (I asked my father about this and he confirmed it) – I think that would make the helicopter over 30 years old. Or worse.

That shook my confidence a bit. Okay, a lot. But I had no choice, I kept on riding it hoping it wouldn’t decide to retire while we were still on air. Needless to say, it didn’t.

That helicopter took me to a lot of places. One of them was on top of a rebel camp that was just captured by the military. They wanted an immediate coverage on the event as it was a big boost to military morale (given how bad the rebels have been kicking their asses). So I went and interviewed people and walked around the camp – doing my job as usual. I wondered why there were banana leaves on the ground but I didn’t touch them in case they were evidence, or undetonated bombs or something. Later on, when we got back to the office, my cameraman told me they were covering the shallow graves of the rebels that were killed. Apparently, their shoes and feet were poking out of the ground and they didn’t want the media to see them. I’m glad they put the leaves there. I really didn’t want to see any more bodies than I need to in my line of work.

The good thing about having a great cameraman is that you never question if he “got the shot”. Plus, he will tell you what he thinks would be the best background for your stand up, or what angle to take, or what drama you need to add to your news story. The “bad” thing about having a great cameraman is he is never off the clock. Never. Even if you are ready to call it a night, if his spider senses tingle, then it’s off to follow a lead.

We were on our way home at 11pm after covering some political event when he spotted a bomb squad in the middle of the road. Traffic was blocked and you can barely see what was going on, but for some reason my cameraman knew. He parked the car, grabbed his camera and screamed at me to grab the microphone and follow him. I was so ready to go to bed already but his scream shot a fresh dose of adrenaline up my system. I did what I was told and ran after him. He turned on the camera and just started shooting whatever was going on, without asking questions. The naïve silly me just followed suit, observing what the group of men in military gear was doing.

When they were done, they headed back to their truck and told me to just call their office for the official story. We headed back to the car and I asked Paps what was going on.

“They thought it was a bomb,” he said.

“Hold on, so they were in the middle of the road to figure out whether it was a bomb or not? So when you ran in there to shoot it, it could have been a bomb?”

“I guess so,” he said.

“What if it was a bomb??!!! What if it was unstable and it exploded??!!”

He fell silent.

“We could’ve been killed! You just ran in there without knowing if it was safe or not!” I screamed.

“Huh, I guess you have a point.”

“There isn’t a company or a job in this world that is worth my life. Think about your daughter Paps. She’ll grow up without a father just because you wanted to shoot a good story,” I said to him.

We drove home in silence. I hoped he was pondering on what I said. But the next day, as we were about to head home again, he spotted a military truck going in the opposite direction, and he did a quick U turn to follow them. Thankfully it was just a military drill and he quickly took me home. After that incident, I reminded him of his family everytime I think he would do something drastic. I don’t know about other journalists but I really don’t think the company I used to work for deserved my life to be on the line just to push their ratings up.

For a while, we stuck to “safer” stories after that. I dug into the political scene, trying to find explosive stories that wouldn’t kill me. One day we got our hands on an issue that we thought would be a good political story and so we went to the governor’s office for an interview. But the governor refused to comment on the issue, so we went to the vice governor’s office to get his side of the story (they had opposing views on the topic) and he readily gave us a quote we could use. Paps suggested we ignite the flames between the two politicians, so we went back to the governor’s office and told him what the vice governor had said. Inflamed by the vice governor’s comment, the governor gave us a really good quote in response to the vice governor’s quote. After getting that we went back to the vice governor to then get his comment on the governor’s comment. We did this back and forth interview for maybe four times before we were satisfied with what we got. It was a great piece for the news, having both politicians answering each other’s accusations like they were arguing live on air.

I used that tactic several times after that. And sometimes, when a politician would refuse to give a comment, I would bluff that the opposition told us they were happy to give their view on the topic. That usually shakes them enough to give us something for our story.

I never felt guilty about lying to the politicians, or manipulating them to get what I want. I think most of them are crooks who hasn’t done a thing to help their constituents. Plus, I always hated going to their functions. Aside from being crooks, most of them are also very sleazy. They’re not afraid to come on to you even when their wives are in the room. It’s not like you can slap them in public too, so there wasn’t really much of a choice but to smile and excuse myself to avoid their tentacles. There were so many instances when I imagined myself grabbing their balls in an anaconda grip and squeezing until they go pale. Would have made a great footage.

Next stop, the dark side of journalism.

 

FYBF