Shouts From Down Under

Sewing or sowing - result will be of itself. Input = Output

There is a verse in the Bible. Genesis Chapter 49 verse 22 that describes Joseph as being a fruitful bough.
Like a branch with fruit on it, and not just fruit, but the branch extending over the wall.

Are we like that with what we write? Am I like that? Do people / readers reap what I intended to sow?

If, in the other context, sewing with needle and thread, were I to make a garment, would it have durable stitches, and be of good appearance, something that would fit as intended?

No need to point out, I suppose, that this isn't always the case. How do we know? What is the gauge that tells us if there's fuel in the tank? Or if our literature vehicle is overheating. Perhaps its not even running. Or has stalled. Is it in reverse, screaming its pistons off, belting down the road with nobody steering, the brakes still locked on in rusty seizure, smoke pouring from somewhere behind each front wheel of the paragraphs?

Is this weirdness really waving a shaking, caffeine stimulated hand at our writing having like a dashboard in a car?

As writers, are we really a bunch of transport effigy manufacturers, hammering out these passenger commuting behemoths, or gentle sets of roller blades maybe, that nudge along the rider into paths of desirability, or plunge them off cliffs of terrible narrative, to die horrible quivering slobbering boredom / confusion / outrage / disappointment and forever haunted by the memory of our shocking grammar and overrun sentences?

This panel behind the steering wheel, that I refer to, the dashboard of feedback dials, is really only visible when someone reviews our work. Or when someone comments some other way, about our stories etc.

What if they weren't honest. What if it was someone like our mum? What if it was our wife? What if, (oh the thought of such a thing makes me feel pale!) they said our writing was faultless, great, the best and didn't need any fixing, tweaking, rewriting or any other modifications at all?

What if the dials on our dashboard of feedback were dishonest? We'd be creating stuff for readers that were not the fruit they chose. They wanted apples. We gave them dirty socks. They desired to eat the sweet nectar of peaches, with downy fluff on the soft skin, but what did we offer and cram down their throats? We jammed into their reluctant mouths a handful of hard apricot seeds that had been lying behind the fridge, and are mouldy by now.. (ok that's a bit odd but I can't think of another one just now)

So honest reviews are a healthy, honest, necessary and vital part of our lives, and we'd do very well to listen to what is said in those reviews.

On the other end of the scale, if the gauges claim our vehicle has not only stopped, but the engine is blown up, there's no fuel, and our wheels have been stolen, in fact, the situation is so bad that the whole vehicle idea doesn't even exist, and yet, we are still hurtling down the road quite safely in our vehicle, thank you very much, then we know the review is codswallop.

We can't try to fool all the people all the time.

Apples is apples, and refuse is waste matter.

Let us not think that we can sow wheat and harvest oats. Not even wild oats. Especially not wild oats.

Nor can we put together a box of fruit and be unwilling to share it. Wouldn't it be great if our works were what we claimed.

As for our bough extending over the wall - I guess that's where it comes down to going the extra mile. Listening to the feedback, taking in the review message, assessing what is profitable, and then applying it to ourselves.

Popular opinion isn't always best. Sometimes it pays to listen when we don't want to, and when we have to hear something unpalatable. Maybe we don't like apples, don't like eating what we've grown, but apples is what we got, sir.

Yes. Apples, is what we've got.

Sparky