Let's talk about writing regret

on how to navigate the fear that future-you will be so disappointed

“Have you ever regretted something you’ve written and published, and if so, why?”

This question was recently posed in a private writing Facebook group where I’m a member. And the response that popped into my head was,

well, of course. I regret everything. All the time.

Maybe you can relate?

Maybe you, too, are a little bit in-your-own-head? Maybe you are prone to questioning and over-analysis? Maybe you are a bit sensitive?

The very same traits that make me a writer also happen to be the qualities that make me fear saying anything, ever, at all.

But that’s no way to live (at least, that’s what I’ve decided today, but maybe tomorrow I’ll think otherwise).

Even though I am still very hesitant to speak off-the-cuff, to have opinions on issues that I haven’t thought deeply about, I realized that if I wanted to have a voice, I had to let go of some inhibitions.

Photo by jonathan romain on Unsplash

Letting go of my inhibitions has led to some of the yeses I’ve received.

For instance, one summer afternoon, I was home with my feverish son. And on this particular day, his illness had not resulted in crabbiness, but in fatigue. He was on hour two of what would be a four-hour sickness-induced nap.

So, I had some down time.

Scrolling a private writing Facebook group for parents, I stumbled upon a call for personal essay submissions by Lauren Berger DuVilla, an editor at TinyBeans. She was looking for pieces (about 700 words) that discussed traditional parenting practices that we’d forgone because something else worked better for our families.

As my son continued to sleep off his virus, I began brainstorming ideas in a notebook.

What do we do that’s unconventional? I asked myself.

Then I remembered the night before, when my son, my husband, and I all sat down to watch an episode of Stranger Things.

Photo by Rafal Werczynski on Unsplash

I don’t think most people are letting their 5-year-old watch Stranger Things, I thought to myself.

I wasn’t even totally convinced that we should be letting our kid watch the show, to be honest.

But my husband and I had discussed this practice. My son was really drawn to the supernatural — just as my husband had been his entire life. He never seemed to have nightmares. He begged us to make stories scarier. When I tried to compose bedtime tales each night, he’d ask for revisions: this time, make it spookier.

And we watched Stranger Things with him. We cuddled on the couch, we discussed plot elements, and we censored moments that seemed too intense.

It was unconventional. It was not the best practice for every child.

But for us, at that point in time, with this particular child, it seemed to work.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

So, I began to freewrite about this parenting decision.

And in this practice, I remembered a slightly embarrassing story: several weeks before, my son had been drawing a picture of a monster at the end of Sunday School.

A monster he had, of course, seen in an episode of Stranger Things.

But my son did not refer to his drawing as a monster.

No — when his Sunday School teacher asked, what is that a picture of? My son responded, a serial killer.

Which, technically, the monster was.

Should I have been concerned that my son’s artistic renderings featured such darkness? I wasn’t sure.

But I was pretty sure that if I received an email with the subject line, “My five-year old drew a serial killer in Sunday School -- but we're still letting him watch Stranger Things,” I would at least open it. Out of curiosity.

So that was the headline I used for my first pitch to Lauren Berger DuVilla.

Here’s the pitch:

Dear Lauren Berger DuVilla,

My five-year old son sat at a table after Sunday School drawing an elaborate picture of what appeared to be half-man, half-monster. 

"That looks great, honey," I said, admiring his work with his teacher beside me. "What is it?"

"A serial killer," my son replied without a change in tone. His teacher raised her eyebrows. I turned to offer an explanation: "we've been watching Stranger Things," I said. "Vecna. You know Vecna? He's a serial killer."

My husband and I grew up in conservative, Evangelical homes. We often joke about how many cultural references we miss because of the strict rules our parents had about television consumption. Scooby Doo? Banned because of ghosts. Rugrats? Censored due to the glorification of childhood disobedience. 

But my husband and I are raising our son with different standards. We've noticed that allowing him to watch scary shows has not filled him with fear, but with creativity and curiosity. In a 700-word personal essay, I would love to explore our decision to allow our son to consume entertainment that portrays the world as a complicated place, not just filled with sunshine and roses. 

She responded within a day and told me that she was a “big fan.”

She offered $125 for the piece. After filing the essay, she gave me some great edits where she asked me to speak about why the decision was right for us, but not necessarily right for all parents of kindergarteners (a sentiment I absolutely agreed with and a revision that made the ethos in my essay much stronger).

Here’s a link to the piece if you are interested in reading it: I'm Letting My 5-Year-Old Watch 'Stranger Things'

Photo by Ajeet Mestry on Unsplash

I usually try to avoid comment sections on pieces I publish, but I did notice that I received some criticism from readers on TinyBeans’s social media. Some of the criticism, I thought, was fair (though all of the comments also just made my article that much more popular, boosting its visibility — so, really, it worked out in my favor).

I wondered if I would someday regret this parenting decision. I also thought about whether I would regret publicly owning this decision on the internet.

(I may — I’m not sure. I can’t predict the future.)

But then perhaps I could write about that too. I think that to write with any sort of authenticity, you have to be willing to be seen as imperfect. As in process. And even if others don’t have grace for your decisions, perhaps you can cultivate compassion for yourself and your well-intentioned choices.

I have since gone on to write a number of other parenting essays for TinyBeans.

Full disclosure: these are some of my favorite pieces to write.

The tone of these essays is usually frank, but not snarky. My general attitude is one that bemoans parenting expectations but does not bemoan parenthood. These essays feel really natural to me because they cover the minutiae of my day-to-day life. And I’ve been so grateful to have an outlet for this writing at TinyBeans.

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Thanks for reading about my experience writing for TinyBeans. What questions do you have for me about this outlet or about my process? Ask me in the comments!

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This is part of a monthly series called Path to Publication.

In it, I will unpack the story behind my stories. These reflections are part process, part strategy.

There will be clear takeaways for your own creative work. I will include sample pitches, along with editors’ names and rates (at the time my published pieces went live). I’m sharing the intel I’ve gathered in the hope that it can help you place your own work.

At the beginning of 2022, I had, essentially, zero bylines. Since then (in the span of two years), I’ve published nearly 50 short essays. It’s not like I became particularly prolific. I’ve always been a writer. I just became serious about learning the tips and tricks for placing a piece in a popular outlet. And that’s what I’m looking forward to sharing with you.