Insecure

I have realized why I haven’t finished writing a complete novel yet.

Because I suck balls.

Not in the good, tea-bagging kind of way, either. In the Taylor Swift, untalented, Twilight-esque kind of way.

OK, maybe not quite that badly. I’m pretty sure I could never write something as terrible as Twilight even if I tried. But I’m also pretty sure there’s some people out there who might think so.

I’ve been told by a few people that I possess a talent for writing, and if my blog is any indication, the fact that I have almost as many followers as I do posts seems like a good omen. However, I’ve just been working on chapter four, and every time I type something and then read it, I want to smash my computer screen and abolish any evidence that I would imagine such drivel.

Is this a writer’s dilemma? Do all writer’s sit in front of their work and berate themselves for writing swill? If so, did Stephanie Meyer type up her “masterpiece” and refrain from ever reading it afterwords? It would certainly seem so. ‘Tis true I would probably benefit from a few classes that teach a person how to focus and write and rewrite, but who has money for that kind of thing? I’ve always written by emulating other authors whose books I’ve read. Is that considered plagiarism? I wouldn’t think so, since I’m not actually stealing their ideas. As much as I adore a great many writers with many writing styles, I don’t really want a reader to finish my book and think to himself, “Well, so-and-so writes exactly like that.”

I’ve discovered as I write that the details, which are so extremely important, are the very things that keep me from getting my stories out of my head. I adore Thomas Hardy’s attention to detail, and his 14- page devotion to describing what an English moor looks like, but how did he do that while still keeping the reader interested at the story at hand? And unless you’re writing in first person narrative, how do you stick the “she said” s and “he replied”s in without sounding too cheesy?

I know I can write well, it’s just getting it out that’s the hard part. And as you all probably already know, the only thing I like hard is my Rockstar’s dick.

Thank you for listening to my rant. The end.