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Am I a great writer?
I have been trying to write a lot more as I have been told over and over again by my gut, my friends, and acquaintances, ‘You are a great writer.’
I feel like it’s a talent I have. Why waste it? So I’m writing. And when I write a lot, I start reading a lot more, for inspiration, for ideas, for the kick in the butt that I need.
That’s the dangerous thing, isn’t it? Because when I read other’s writing, I realize how crappy, my writing really is. My writing seems like the writing of a 2-year-old compared to some of the legends. I write and I want to throw the entire thing into the crapper.
Why do I keep on doing this to myself, I wonder sometimes? Why do I keep on writing when everything I write turns to ashes in my mouth when I read it?
I have realized over the years, the only thing to do for me, is to write. Write crappily (not a word), write badly, write horribly, but keep on writing. I write and I write. No matter how I’m feeling, I need to write everyday.
Some days, it’s just journaling, doing my morning pages, my 3 pages of stream-of-consciousness, nothing that can be published.
Other days, I’m able to get a blog post out or even two and I feel extremely accomplished.
Yet other days, I’m even able to write a couple of pages of next Bestseller.
No matter what it is, I do have days like every writer on this planet, who is writing and not just talking about it, where I want to give up writing, because I have to be the absolute worst writer on this planet. I read my stuff and I want to puke. Did this tripe come out of my fingers, my mind, my creativity, I ask myself disgusted?
I thought I was supposed to be a great writer – that’s what people who read my writing say to me. Then, where is it all? Where are all the beautiful words that are supposed to change the world? Where are they?
I never read my work
I sure as hell don’t see them on my page here.
Should I stop reading other people’s work then? Would that help me from feeling that everything I write is crap? But reading beautiful words is part of the reason why I love writing.
Knowing that one day, after enough practice, after hundreds of thousands of crappy words written, one day, I’ll be able to write some beautiful words, comparable to the writers I love, that is what sustains me.
For now, I go through life with days where my writing sucks, and other days where my writing is alright.
No matter what, at least I can say, at least I’m still writing. At least, I feel coherent enough, alive enough, and sane enough, to keep on writing. At least, I’m able to take that first step and overcome procrastination, and write those first few words to get over that hump.
Even if the words are crap, and I’m disgusted with myself at the end of it, at least I put out some words.
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