The magic of making mistakes
And of chubby li'l 25-year-old baby cheeks
When I look back at some of the first restaurant reviews I penned as “Jean Le Boeuf,” I cringe. And laugh. And sometimes cry — a little.
In my second-ever critique, way back in November 2006, I used the word “porktastic” unironically. In a December 2006 review, I called a basket of tortilla chips, “very munchable.” In a single 2007 review I wrote “moist” and “flavorful” and called the service “genial.” (There I go cringing again.)
(Look at my li’l baby chipmunk cheeks from 2005!)
Before I wrote restaurant reviews, I worked as a sportswriter. I made far worse mistakes on that front. I got terms wrong. I spelled names wrong. I used cliche after cliche. “They, at last, have a league of their own,” is how I ended my first sports story from early 2005, and whew!, my eyes are watering from the torture.
Thankfully, my editors caught the most egregious errors. The unhurried editors (as if such a thing exists) would gently nudge me away from my cliches and made-up phrases. They’d tell me to be more specific, to show not tell. I’d try to listen, as much as a 20-something-year-old can. But sometimes I’d persist — porktastically.
The thing about making mistakes as a writer is: You rarely make them twice.
One angry phone call about a wrong address, one nasty email about who vs. whom, one three-page handwritten letter about the appropriate use of the term “chef” — for me, that was all it took to type more carefully, work more cautiously, check and recheck then have someone else check before finally hitting send.
There’s power in making mistakes.
I’ve spent the weekend at a writing conference in Lancaster, Pennsylvania listening to amazing authors discuss how and what motivates them to write, how and what motivates them to get better and keep going. For me, so much of it comes from my mistakes.
The beauty of journalism is you get to be imperfect. We have deadlines and a daily beast to feed. Sometimes that beast gets lobster Thermidor, sometimes it gets a microwaved burrito. But it always eats.
There’s nothing like seeing your name attached to an error or some horrendous pun that 2006-you thought would be hilarious. It’s horrifying — and highly motivating. For me, it’s not just about bettering my grammar, it’s about writing things I’m less and less ashamed to later read. It’s getting to the point where I can be proud of my work, where I can see why it would win an award or garner a positive response.
The pressure of journalism, this relentless daily grind, it wears on writers. But it also forces so many of us to get better fast. Pressure, as they say, creates diamonds.
And some cliches are just too shiny to let go.
Speaking of awards
I’m honored to have won a 2021 Sunshine State Award from the Society of Professional Journalists. After the wild year that was 2020, I placed third for Food & Travel Reporting behind journalists from the Miami Herald and South Florida Business Journal. You can find a full list of winners, including so many of my talented colleagues, here.
And my website … finally … works!
It only took a month, two chats with Squarespace tech support, 72 searches for various iterations of “why red page warning website,” some more crying, 26 exasperated texts to any friend willing to listen, some newly gained knowledge on SSL certificates, and one form request to Google — but. my. website. is. finally. LIVE AND RED-PAGE FREE! Check it out: annabelletm.com (and sweet lord jesus, if it gives you any kind of error message, please let me know so I can give up and go back to Friendster).