The first time I realized something was 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 the page have always been my passion. No matter if I wrote 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 in because I’m never good enough.
My characters didn’t develop enough. Or some of my descriptions doesn’t make sense because they can be abstract. Or there’s too many characters. Too many stories in one. My dialogue didn’t meet your expectations. My words are not good enough.
But I keep creating, because I’m still that same writer as before. But now I’m worried. 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.