I'm not going to lie about this. I'm in a hurry today. The winds of change in my personal life are blowing and I'm having to discover a new routine for posting and such. Right now, I've not been doing much internety things.
But, this is the one day a month that Alex J Cavanaugh has given us, through the Insecure Writer's Support Group, to vent about all our troubles and woes and not have to worry about people thinking we're whiney, we're supposed to be whiney today. All of you trying to encourage others on your own blogs are starting to make me feel bad, so make up some troubles if you have your act together, just to make me feel better about myself. You know, misery loving company and all that.
Anyway, this month, I want to take just a moment to talk about my latest meltdown, which is this: I'll never be good enough.
It would take me way too long to get into all the details of how I went down this rabbit hole of self pity and doubt, but needless to say, that's where I'm at. I feel kinda like Michael Jordan when he quit basketball to pursue life as a baseball player. Not that I had this other field I'm so great in that I left, but that he was one of the most notoriously hard workers on the planet, but no matter how much work he put into it, he just couldn't will himself into being a major league baseball player.
And all that work he was putting into developing his skills of a baseball player, well, it was described like thing: If he were on your company softball team, you would think he's he greatest ever. But put him on a team with other major league prospects, and you begin to see that he's missing something.
Ah Ha! That's me. I've spent a decade obsessing about the craft - in spite the of fact that the comma is a still a mystery to me - and I think back to Michael Jordan, yes, I can shoot 1000 free throws per day just like he did when he played basketball, but there is not training I can do that will give me hands large enough to wrap halfway around a basketball, or to jump so high that I'm in danger of hitting my head against the rim when I leap.
Those are things that someone is born with. I wonder if writing is the same way sometimes. Yes, I can learn to plot a decent story, but that won't make me great.
And that's my rant, my fear, to put it more succinctly, is that as good as I can ever dream of being, won't be enough to ever make me the writer I want to be. Period. And as such, well, I don't know. Don't judge me. It's my free day.