The first time I realized something is wrong with me– No. Hold up. Is that wrong of me to say that? When you break me into pieces for something I created can I– No. I’ll start over.
Words on pages have always been my passion. No matter if I write it or not, it’s something that makes my heart beat. But it’s never something I can create well. It’s something I get destroyed for because I’m never good enough.
My characters don’t develop enough. Or some of my descriptions doesn’t make sense because they’re too abstract. Or there’s too many characters to begin with. Too many stories in one. My dialogue doesn’t meet your expectations. My words aren’t good enough.
But I keep creating, because I’m still the same writer as before. Except I’m worried now. I hesitate to show people my words. I ask them for an honest critique and hide behind a door. I’m waiting for the rejection letter. I’m waiting for the “it was good but…” Just give it to me already.
I get some compliments, but never from other writers, so my brain wonders if they count. I’m not sure they do.
But writers keep writing. That’s all I’m trained to do. Maybe I’ll impress another writer one day. Until then, I’ll add your rejection to my pile.