I'm trying. Valiantly. (Well, maybe not so valiantly, but trying, nonetheless.)
Maybe I just can't turn off my inner editor.
I was fairly excited with my story for the first couple of days. And then life intervenes, and I have to struggle to make myself drive to the library so I can use a computer, b/c I detest writing at least 1,667 words a day by hand. My word count is horrible. And I just feel like my writing is horrible.
I know everyone had to start out somewhere. We're not all Fitzgeralds. I'm certainly not. I can't push out a This Side of Paradise in a few months (or whatever it was). But I just have this feeling that I could never be a great writer. I'm not even sure if I want to be.
I have all of these ideas for stories, is the thing. But they never come out the way I want them to. And writing them kind of feels like an ideal.
I would love to write something that other people genuinely enjoy reading. But am I capable of that? I don't know.
And vague historical/literary references aside, what if I can't even write as well as that much beloved, much hated Meyer? (In my opinion, her books are too large due to lack of proper revision rather than because her writing is so good that it just had to be that large.)
I know how to write an essay. That's what I've done for the past four years, and I think I've done it fairly well. But fiction? I feel like I used to possibly have a talent for it, but if I did, the talent evaporated as I forced myself to write within the restrictions that my teachers wanted. "If." That's quite the conditional.
I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Guess I just needed to vent.
Back to my self-imposed torture chamber, a.k.a., Microsoft Word.