27 March 27, 2019
In college, bonding moments as new writers always include the awkwardness of our prose, the lack of detail in our settings, the shallowness of our characters. In my courses so far, I’ve found I’m not alone in learning to build my character into a likeable person that someone else wants to read about, but I’m encouraged when I read someone else’s work and find they’re struggling equally with that same thing. But outside of the classroom, it’s different. Not because there aren’t new writers that are struggling with the same thing I am but because I’m not looking for them. I love to read the short conversations on Twitter from those that I follow and those who have been kind enough to follow me. But I’m a bit terrified that if I move beyond those short conversations, I’ll find I have no talent as a writer and whoever I read will have the same years I have, the same experience I have but they don’t suck, whereas I do.
I think as a writer, the one thing easier than all is to allow your lack of confidence to throw that brick wall in the way and make it look intimidating. How did that damn thing get there anyway? I have to remember, it’s an illusion, one that has no substance. I have to walk through that mirage of self-doubt and not look back. No one starts out a genius, even prodigies have to learn. I may be a late bloomer and maybe even a slow learner, but I made it to college, I know what to do at work and somehow I managed to become a grandmother. I’m not perfect, granted, but I have one thing under my belt I can take pride it. I’m no quitter. And I will get there.