This spring marked 5 years since the release of my first podcast episode. Since I pressed the “publish” button for the very first time and waited in agony, refreshing the Apple Podcasts app every ten seconds until I saw it there, ready and waiting to be consumed. I’ve danced this tango many times since for myself and others, but there’s nothing quite as terrifying as the very first release of one’s created work—presenting your baby to the world and hoping no one makes fun of the thing for being ugly, or worse, completely ignores it. But that does indeed happen, one fixates on the listening statistics that begin to build a case of how bad a thing is with some convincing evidence in the form of actual hard data.
One begins to believe that the thing is bad.
Though, once, I felt a whisper of the muse offering: “this is good”…
I was editing a trailer for the show and suddenly found myself WEEPING. Weeping, I tell you!
I had been fixated on hosting and editing interviews for weeks, but while crafting this video I was able to see what I had actually been building. I was dedicating my time and energy to something I loved, and I enjoyed it so much that I didn’t even realize how much had been completed. The music clicked, the clips of quips collected from interviews hit in the right order, and the instagram trailer was complete:
“My baby is so…its so…beautiful.”
*Tears rolling down cheeks* (actually, when I just watched it, I did get emotional.)
But there was a sadness in those tears, too.
Because while I knew that it was good, it wasn’t enough. It would only go as far as my arms could reach.
It wouldn’t be heard by many people.
It wasn’t enough for my time to be compensated.
I wasn’t getting more podcast work.
I wasn’t making better things.
I pitched the show for a couple local radio stations, no bites.
I had nothing to show but this gorgeous and delightfully functional website with hours of finely-crafted audio vignettes.
It was too hard to look at — how had this thing that was so good result in nothing?
I blamed the branding1, I blamed my VOICE2, I blamed me. Because after all, it’s only just me. Me as host, me as editor, me as promoter. If the show didn’t do well, it’s because of me. The scoring, the narration delivery, the way I share about it…it’s all who I am, and I didn’t kowtow or do it for anyone else. I did what I wanted to do.
I chose music that made me feel how I wanted others to feel.
I wrote script and read it the way I felt my personality shone.
I edited in the way I love for podcasts to be delivered.
When the brand gets out of the way, all that’s left is me.
And it was rejected. I was rejected.
All of it was wasted.
I abandoned the project as soon as it was done. It took too much from me and gave me nearly nothing back. NEARLY…not exactly.
A couple months ago—five years after looking at it for the last time—I revisited the podcast site. It’s still up, just as it was when I left it in 2019. If it were a house, there would be a fine dust cover…but it’s all still here. I emptied the fridge and trash so it wouldn’t smell, walked out the door, and never returned.
And objectively: it’s a mighty fine project.
I had iconic powerlifters and brilliant musicians, podcasters at the beginning of a career who are now super famous (Monica Padman, Armchair Expert), producers and authors and barbers and business folks…And when I start scrolling through the site, I remember the things this passion project did give me:
Marketable skill experience, not just in podcasting, but in marketing and media promotion. Website building. Copywriting. My work today is better because I devoted myself to this.
Listenership! I fail as a creator if I don’t recognize the truth—that there WERE people who listened besides my mom (love you, mom!). Friends who wanted to live Rogue lifestyles like I do would tell me “I loved this episode because…” or “this episode made me think differently.” I met people who found me through the wonders of the internet—like a woman in New York designing a sustainable fashion brand.
Interviewing and conversation experience. This was most learned by EDITING, not interviewing alone. Self-editing provides the greatest way to hear patterns in one’s voice and responses…you can recognize how often you interrupt when you’re trying to edit the episode to tell a story, or how many times you “mmmm” when something profound is said which is ultimately distracting. You learn to shut up and let the subject talk, while you give silent body language that you’re tuned in.
So then, did it actually result in NOTHING?
I tell myself to take a deep breath and then release it back, while I urge my own spirit, “it was not wasted.”
I’ve grown since 2018, too. I’ve learned that quantifying is most often a distraction to doing good work (there are valid arguments against this, ROI being one, and I accept this limitation!), and that the creation process must exist in its own space wherein something is done, and learned from, and then one moves on to the next thing.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
And the……
After The Rogue Ones Podcast, I moved on—hard. In all ways, I flipped off the power, shut down the HVAC, turned off the water, and dead-bolted the door to doing my own show, and then I walked away.
But you know…I’ll be back again. Maybe not in the same way, but soon I’ll return. I’ll put the key in the lock while clasping the handle with trepidation. I’ll turn it slowly, easing the door open as the hinges creak from neglect, and in I’ll go. I’ll repaint, put new wallpaper up, order new furniture, invite new friends over. Maybe even knock a few walls down.
One day I’ll be back. And hey, maybe it’ll even be soon. Like, within the next few months.
Maybe just keep watching. We’ll see what happens ;)
As a new freelancer in 2017, I latched on to the phrase “Rogue One,” as the so-named Star Wars film had just been released and I was FEELING things about it. I built a business around the blasted thing: “Rogue Creative Marketing.” And out of this movement came The Rogue Ones podcast. It was a series of episodes profiling those who “went rogue.” So my podcast that had nothing to do with Star Wars…was named after a Star Wars film. It’s confusing for listeners. It’s confusing for us all.
A thing that resulted in self-editing, which led to a bout of Muscle Tension Dysphonia, something I may write about one day. The cure? Re-learn to talk like yourself. More later.
It is Beautiful music and a wonderful introduction! Thanks, Leslie, for being real and vulnerable. Thanks for sharing your leaned wisdom and tender heart!