Dear Roger: Leashing In The Control Freak

I have finally gotten some help with editing my writing. Yeah, yeah,  I know! I should have done it a long time ago, but when you are a highly distrustful, highly critical of your OWN self who takes every little mistake pointed out as an arrow directly to the heart, its very hard to do, but a weird thing has happened lately! i have actually been able to work with a couple of people who have been able to help me control my comma habit, and who have been able to point out and help me correct the things my terrible eyes miss on my 500 paranoid rereads, and I haven't gone off the deep end. I have taken the assistance, managed to remember to thank them and I have used it.
I think because they aren't sarcastic and mean, grabbing the back of my neck and smashing my nose to the paper while they yell at me about all the "Stupid mistakes" I have made, really helps. They are really pretty nice about it.
Remembering what has made me such a glitchy, insecure, over the top, unable to deal with compliments or criticism kind of person, has become a lot easier since a person who grew up with me came back into my life. He was 7 years younger than me, the baby of the small group of kids that eventually ran the meadows and East Texas swamplands that I wrote about in my book. He has been great for reminding me of things I had forgotten, or perhaps blocked out due to necessity. We both survived many of the same things and I had wondered about him often over the years and hoped he was well. I am beyond ecstatic to have him back in my life.
Giving up a little control and letting people help me has been difficult, I am not used to getting help with things or accepting help, and I am damn sure not used to having so many people being behind me and supporting me! Its been amazing and terrifying.
My own family has not been so supportive. My West Texas cousins have been, God bless them, I would truly feel like an orphan if not for them, and I will be forever grateful for their reminders that they are there and behind me in my writing, because I am essentially dead to the rest of my family.
When I call to talk to my sis now, I can tell she is uncomfortable and she gets off the phone quickly if my parents show up. My parents are not supportive of my writing at all, and even though I put quite clearly on the book the disclaimers that its fiction and even did a vblog talking about that, they are pissed off and done with me. I've always been the black sheep and I guess this just kinda relegated me to "black sheep with rabies" status, from what I have been told, they have even blocked my FB page from appearing on their computers anymore.
Its not easy being a parent, I know. My son and I are going through that whole,"You need to sort out your priorities! No! you need to stay out of my life!" stage of teenagerdom and its been rough. My muse took a runner on me during the battles and I haven't been writing while I deal with a son who essentially flunked his sophomore year of high school due to his guitar habit. Not because hes on drugs or running with a gang or any crap like that, but because he would rather sit and pick on his guitar until his fingers bleed than do schoolwork. All the work he did, he got "A's" on, because hes extremely intelligent, but hes just unwilling to do the stuff he has to do. I would threaten to sell his guitars, but I really think he would do something dire to me. You don't mess with his, "ladies". While we have been battling and arguing about his seeming lack of understanding of how the world works, (including the fact that his mom can shut off his Iphone at the drop of a hat), I have tried to make sure that he knows I still love him even when he is being hurtful and mean,and using all the cruel things he learned at the feet of his step-father to hurt me. I've heard it all, seen it all, and lived with it all, and I expect it all. I expect him to trash me and tell me how bad I am doing as a parent. I know that his life has not been idyllic or perfect, but I do the best with what I have and I really don't put a lot on him compared to what I grew up with, but its all part of the process I guess. I think its making me more prepared for the whole having my writing out for public perusal and criticism thing, because I am my own toughest critic. I burned most of my art and photography because I didn't feel it was up to standards that should be seen or that was worth wasting peoples time on, so having my writing out there where people can pick it apart and point out every little mistake and missed editing error is just the ultimate in masochistic indulgences for me.
Sending it to people who I respect and admire was the toughest step and I forced myself to do it. I agonized over it and that was what almost caused me to pull everything down and go into hiding all over again, but I did it and when I got word they actually got it? It was akin to standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon and either waiting for someone to tell me the view was pretty cool, or to give me a hard kick in the ass over the edge. Neither has happened, so that feeling of fear lingers. The resounding positive support from long-time friends and associates has been amazing and has gone a long ways towards drowning out the vitriol that is coming from my family.I never expected it. rebuilding an ego is a hard thing, and while I am kinda cocky about a few things, showing mine and what goes on in my head has never been one of them.
My books and stories and poetry are like my children, I love them with all my heart, and I nurtured them and worked hard to make them right, and I want others to love them as much as I do. Hearing that some at least care, that has meant the world and is going a long ways towards fixing many things that have been wrong with me for a long time. Who knew?