March of the Writers- Day 15 What readers say about you.

Self-doubt is a strange beast.

It creeps in quietly. It whispers that the words aren’t good enough, that the stories don’t matter, that nobody is really listening. Every writer I know has fought that voice at some point. And if we’re being honest, sometimes it wins a round or two.

But today’s March of the Writers prompt is about doing something we don’t always allow ourselves to do:

Taking a moment to recognize the good.

Not arrogance. Not ego. Just acknowledging that the work we pour pieces of our soul into sometimes reaches someone on the other side of the page.

I’ve been fortunate to have readers tell me that my writing feels real. Members of my street team (Richard’s Readers Lounge) have shared that what they connect with most is the emotional honesty in my work—the way I write about darkness, struggles, and the demons we all carry.

They’ve told me that the language I use turns those inner battles into something tangible. Not just abstract feelings, but something you can almost see and feel on the page. That kind of feedback means a lot to me, because writing has always been about exploring the shadows as much as the light. Here is one of those poems that many have told me they like.

Turmoil Within

The thoughts are uncertain,
not knowing what is behind the curtain.
The element of surprise is too precarious.
An unquiet mind, burdened to find peace.

An unhappy quarrel within your own conscience,
voices becoming obnoxious, driving you to madness.
All you feel is the sadness, a melancholy of fear,
just wanting to disappear.

Grasping that last bit of hope
like a frayed piece of rope.
Wanting to belong, the passion to be strong.

Understanding that there is no desire left,
no self-worth—you are a disappointment at best.
Anxiety and depression settle in: turmoil within.

You can’t escape it,
feeling like a bottomless pit,
overwhelmed and defeated,
like you have been cheated,
alienated to loneliness, only less.

You open the curtain and see it all to be true:
you are just you. It is the unfortunate straw that you drew.

Nothing can be done but gather your things and run.

My poetry collection, Whiskey and the Autumn Wind, has received some incredibly meaningful responses from readers on Goodreads.

Here are a few that truly stuck with me.

“I didn’t just read Whiskey and the Autumn Wind… I sipped it slowly, like a fine bourbon by a crackling fireplace on a chilly autumn night. Every poem feels like a warm hug from Hemingway himself, whispering about love, loss, and those quiet, soul-stirring moments we rarely put into words.”
— Thompson

“I’ve been sober for four years, and I was hesitant to pick up a book that celebrates whiskey so prominently. But I’m glad I did. The whiskey here isn’t glorified—it’s symbolic. It represents memory, aging, ritual, and the way we try to hold on to the fleeting… This book is not about drinking, it’s about remembering, letting go, and coming to terms with what remains.”
— Leila Hoover

“These poems found me at a time when I needed them. They’re about aging, loss, memory, but never heavy-handed. I cried at one, laughed softly at another, and closed the book feeling more grounded than when I started.”
— Juliette

As writers, we spend a lot of time chasing the next idea, the next project, the next improvement in our craft. We move forward so fast that we rarely stop and look back at the impact our words might already be having.

Sometimes the most powerful reminder that the work matters comes from a single reader saying:

“Your words meant something to me.”

That’s the real reward.

Not algorithms.
Not rankings.
Not sales numbers.

Just the quiet knowledge that somewhere out there, a person read your words and felt something real.

And for a writer, that’s everything.