It’s Good to Screw Up Sometimes

Putting work out there is a funny thing. And then seeing that work published online, in forums where people can comment and react, all without any control or chance to pull it down.

Full-time journalists do this every day. Or at least a lot more frequently than me. 

Most of my work is hidden in plain sight, on a website, an email, and even a print ad or two. But never anything with my name on it. Nothing that said, “Hey, this is Ben’s writing. Ben did it!”

So, if someone critiqued or said it was awful or just ripped it to pieces (figuratively or literally), I never knew it. Once the edits were finished and the Google Doc comments resolved, I went about my days without thinking about what other people thought of my work.

It was pretty low risk. Of course, I want the words to do their job. Convert customers or whatever the particular copy was written for. But there was no public square where my work could be discussed, no comment section or like count.

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself in a position where this all changed. I’d pitched the Free Times an article about my city’s growth. They picked up the story and I went out and interviewed a bunch of people, wrote the thing, edited it and then edited some more.

It went live and I was nervous. I figured they’d post it on their social channels and I’ve seen the dumpster fire that can happen in those comments. 

And I’ve pitched news stories before. But, like most of my copywriting work, it was fairly safe up until now. 

Now, don’t get it twisted. It’s not like this piece was front page, above the fold, breaking news kind of stuff. But it was a topic that I figured could drum up a little difference of opinion. People get dicey when you talk about city development.

Naturally, I kept refreshing the page to see what was happening. Although I feared what people might say about my work, I worried even more that they would say nothing at all.

Over time, some comments rolled in. One in particular mentioned some of my word choices about an area being “undeveloped.” While not an indictment of my writing, it made me think maybe I missed something.

Later that afternoon, I decided to check the comments again. 

This time, to my horror, one of the people I interviewed commented. Not to complain about the piece itself but saying her last name was wrong. I didn’t see my face, but if I’d been looking in a mirror, I imagine it would have quickly been white and immediately replaced with a bright shade of red.

I’d screwed up. Pulled an old switcheroo on some last names. The meltdown was on. 

Not only did I have to worry about people I don’t know and would never meet commenting on my work, but now I have an editorial crisis in the form of swapping two sources' names.

I told my wife that this was it. The gig was up. My writing credibility was shot and I’d be lucky to get paid another dollar for putting words on a page.

As the doom spiral continued into the evening, she said, “You know what. Nobody’s really thinking about that article anymore.” Sheesh. Sounds harsh, right?

But it’s true. People read stuff and they move on. If you’re lucky, they might read the whole thing. 

And if you’re really lucky, they might even leave a comment about it. But by 6:00 that night, they’re thinking about dinner, how to get their kid to stop crying, or that other article they just came across on their Facebook feed.

They’re not sitting around discussing the finer points of the lede in my article. And odds are, they didn’t even see my name in the byline. 

But it doesn’t really matter. 

That’s not to diminish my work or anyone else’s who does this. Because it’s a lot easier to leave a comment, nasty or nice than it is to set up interviews, follow leads, research, and write a story. Then edit until you’re so sick of reading that you’d rather throw it in the trash than look at it again (although you probably should - see the above paragraph).

Between the comments and my mistake, I let myself get in a bad place about all of it. I let myself think that I’m not cut out for this and that taking on this kind of assignment was a mistake. My skin isn’t thick enough for it.

Yet, here I am, about a month after I sent that story for publishing. Nobody has shown up on our doorstep to protest my writing. 

Even the lady whose name got switched had a little joke about it online. I’m no worse for the wear. I have more stories coming out. And even though I could give any sensitive creative a run for their money with the fragility of my work ego, I can’t seem to stop myself from wanting to write more of these stories.

Next time, maybe I’ll avoid the comments when it all goes live. And double check those last names one more time.