The first time I realized something is wrong with me– No. Hold up. Is it wrong of me to say that? When you break me into pieces over 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 heartbeat. But it’s never something I can create well. It’s something I get destroyed for, because I’m never good enough.
My dialogue doesn’t meet your expectations. Or some of my descriptions doesn’t make sense, because they’re too abstract. My characters don’t develop enough. Or there’s too many characters to begin with. Too many stories in one. 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.
Copyright © Robin LeeAnn