When I was a teen, someone said I was one of the few that could jot down exactly what I thought. I didn’t know it wasn’t so easy for others.
When I stopped journaling and started storytelling, I had so much to learn that I thought I’d never get it. Somehow the moment came, and with it I finished a short. It wasn’t beautiful. First drafts rarely are. From there I just kept going.
At each stage I improved, but never expected to hear/read good things about my work. I’m my cruelest critic. As I struggled, I was too close to see it clearly. Yet somehow I found the guts to submit.
The best thing that anyone said about my writing was: They’d like to offer me a contract.
Anyone on this journey knows how sweet that can be.
Like I said, writing comes in stages.
The stupid thing is even after all the stages I’ve gone through I still wonder if I could do better. Every time I write a short I seem to bump it up. My first thought this round was, if I can do it in a short, shouldn’t I be able to do this same thing in a book?
A very unsettling thought to be sure.
Why do I do this to myself? I don’t know.
Does this ever happen to you?