TL;DR stands for Too Long; Didn’t Read, and it was commented on my Facebook share of the Disinterested Interpreter’s post of (deep breath) Brawler’s Knuckles.
Well, I didn’t know what that meant when it was commented. I Googled it, and ended up staring at the definition attempting to hang on to my ego as it blew apart.
Melodrama? I wish. I felt like the floor had fallen out from under me, that I had never learned my ABCs, that I would never be able to write a decent blog entry, ever. And in the space of a few seconds I regretted every bit of hot air I had let into my head, because the cumulative whiffs of it had blown it up without my noticing – and I thought I’d been so careful.
My rational self knew what to do (it always does, that annoying thing), so I clicked ‘Like’ on the FB comment, tapped out a t-h-a-n-k-_-y-o-u, and then, after a few more moments of staring at that, I added a smiley. Not the wide-grinning smiley. Then I sent it off with a sigh of released tension.
And after that, I indulged in mental writhing. My annoyed, lash-out emotional side wanted to settle for muttering in annoyance at the single-shot, bullet-to-the-ego way the comment had been delivered. But the side I would rather be, the -ulp!- disinterested side, knew that I was reacting because I had allowed myself to think me a writer good enough to be read without anything needing changing. Cockily, I let myself believe that my writing style was so engaging that people would read it whatever the length.
Therefore, when my twin of the Random Ramblemate confessed to skimming Brawler’s Knuckles because of its length, I had another gut-twisting wrench of self-pity before dealing with it by editing. Well, not that that wasn’t gut-twisting in its own way, since it was a battle between disinterest and my ego, but it was the satisfying sort of gut-twist.
The worst part of my personal deflation was that I know, I’ve known, that I have a tendency to over-word everything. As my best friend unflatteringly told me, I write “in commas and paragraphs”. Therefore, being told what I already know was – well. A single-shot bullet-to-the-ego.
After the battle was won, I went back to my work, with new rules for myself on length and style. (None of which particularly apply to this one, as it is a reflection). Ouch, and owww, and all that, but at the end of the day, I didn’t mind that bullet-to-the-ego; it was well worth the wake-up call.