Over the past few days I’ve started to have my first doubts about whether I’m cut out to be a writer. It’s not to do with the act of writing (I’m still enjoying sitting in front of a computer, living out each individual character’s journey) or whether my story is worth telling (it is, even if it is just for me). My problem is that I have no idea if I am any good.
This is obviously a difficult question for you to answer because, as it currently stands, you have no idea what I’m writing (other than this blog). The only person who has read any part of my novel is me. And it’s a first draft. I’m deliberately using this draft to create the framework for the story, I plan to furnish it during the second draft (and brutal edit). The issue, I think, is two fold:
- I’ve been reading some wonderful books recently and while enjoying them, in the back of my head I hear a little voice saying, you could never write like that
- For the first time since I’ve started, some parts of the process haven’t felt natural.
Now I appreciate that, after being only 1 month and 50,000 words into the 1st draft, in writing terms I’m just a baby. I should be happy that I’m still enjoying the writing process and learning and improving each day (I am, I am!) but I’m impatient. I don’t want to be a good writer maybe one day in the future, I want it to be good now.
Anyway, the purpose of the blog is not to search for compliments, look for support, appeal to your sentimentality. I just needed to acknowledge these doubts so that I can file them away on the “to be ignored” pile of self doubt currently mouldering away in the dusty compartments of my psyche.
Thank you for witnessing. Doubts duly filed.