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There once lived an ancient Persian by the name of Ali Hafed who owned a large farm with orchards, fields, and gardens. He was a wealthy and contented man. One day, someone told Al Hafed about diamonds, saying they were congealed raindrops, that a single large diamond could purchase the county, that if he had a mine of diamonds, Ali Hafed could place his children upon thrones. Ali Hafed went to bed that night poor because he was discontented. The next day, he sold his farm, collected his money, left his family in charge of a neighbour, and felt off in search of diamonds. He searched and searched until his money was all spent and he was in rags. Eventually he died. One day as the man who had purchased Ali Hafed’s farm led his camel to the stream in his garden to drink, he noticed a curious flash of light from the sands of the stream. He picked up a stone reflecting all the hues of the rainbow. When he began to dig, every acre of that farm, and in fact every shovelful, revealed acres of diamonds.

I tell you this story because there’s definitely a diamond in my backyard.

Years ago I inherited a ring from my grandmother’s estate that had a diamond, then an emerald, and then another diamond. One evening this month, I was weeding out Virginia Creeper from the back of my garden when I realized the ring now had a diamond, then an emerald, and then an empty claw.

I cried. We searched. We searched with flashlights and sieves. We ripped out healthy tall grasses. I realized how small a diamond is. I recognized I really should have worn gardening gloves for the last eleven years of wearing this ring. It never turned up. And least not yet. I live in hopes that it will appear this fall. I wonder whether someday it will appear long after I’ve moved away. I hope it hasn’t just gone back into the ground or into a yard waste bag, never to be seen again, or if it is found that it won’t just be dismissed as a piece of glass. Its greatest value to me is sentimental � I wouldn’t sell it � so I don’t mind so much replacing the gem with a cheap imitation crystal.

Let me tell you another story. Last month I did what I always tell writers to do, what I always do: I hired an editor to assess a novel I wrote a few years ago. What I didn’t do was to be careful enough about who I hired. What I got back left my mouth hanging open because the review was�hateful. An editor needs to be able to stand on the side of the story. The editor also must find a way to tell the writer when a story isn’t what they think it is, and to suggest ways of making it stronger. When I edit books for clients, it really is an exercise in integrity and nerve to be able to say hard things in service to the story, but in a way that the writer can receive them without feeling like they’ve been flogged. The same week I got this edit, I had another reader challenge some matters in the same piece of writing, but that reader did stand on the side of the story, and I had no problem at all receiving the hard words.

I had to figure out what to do with the dreadful review, and I decided I would do what you do when your house is on fire � run around quickly and grab anything valuable, and then get out and let the rest burn. I spent two hours with the scathing review, taking the diamonds I could out of it, and then then leaving the rest behind.

In her book Big Magic, author Elizabeth Gilbert says:

“Recognizing this reality � that the reaction doesn’t belong to you � is the only sane way to create, If people enjoy what you’ve created, terrific. If people ignore what you’ve created, too bad. If people misunderstand what you’ve created, don’t sweat it. And what if people absolutely hate what you’ve created? What if people attack you with savage vitriol and insult your intelligence and malign your motives and drag your good name through the mud? Just smile sweetly and suggest � as politely as you possibly can � that they go make this own [expletive deleted] art. Then stubbornly continue making yours.�

I also had some glorious writing feedback this month, someone who said of Renaissance that “it ended up resonating deeply� and another reader saying of one of my unpublished novels, “It was charming and meaningful, stirring and profound.� But the goal can’t simply be praise. The painter Georgia O’Keefe knew that, wisely saying, “I have already settled it for myself so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free. Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing–and keeping the unknown always beyond you.�

And that, I think, is the twist. I needed to search for the diamonds among the rocks of that first editor, but the diamonds aren’t actually the praise. You’ll notice if you go back to the Ali Hafed story that he became poor not when he had spent all his riches, but when he lost his contentment in what he had.

“Acres of Diamonds� was part of a talk given more than 5000 times in the late 19th and early 20th century by motivational speaker Russell H. Conwell. Apparently Conwell meant it nearly literally, encouraging his listeners that opportunities for wealth were always in their reach. I guess I can agree with that, although more in the metaphorical sense.

Elizabeth Gilbert tells of a musician whose well-intended sister said to her, ‘What if you never succeed? What if you never get a record deal or become a big star?� Gilbert says, “In normal life, if you’re good at something and you work hard at it, you will likely succeed. In creative endeavours, maybe not.� The musician agreed with Gilbert, saying to her sister, “If you can’t see what I’m already getting out of this, then I’ll never be able to explain it to you.�

There’s a diamond in my backyard � both literally and metaphorically. There’s the tiny missing stone but there’s also the joy of creating, the enjoyment of the creative life that has nothing to do with commercial success or even praise. By that standard, even a brutal review can be a diamond. Not long ago I read a short that talked about not just running from rejection but “going out there and seeking the Nos.� That writer said they had both had fun that way as well as some meaningful experiences. I wouldn’t describe the review as either fun or meaningful but I wasn’t going to go through that without squeezing every bit of good I could from it � and do remember what diamonds are, coals under pressure.