Sure, the image of the lonely and deep writer who hides away in her small apartment to write carefully constructed masterpieces is a fantastic image. One, I’m not shamed to admit, I have tried to emulate to little success.
I’m coming to realize that that image is hard to deal with considering how much I depend on my family and friends to read the rough drafts of my writing. Yes, the actual act of writing is a lonely process. It’s introspective, and challenging, but if you don’t have anyone to tell you that your rough draft reads like a spastic ball of ideas to nowhere then you’re out of luck.
I’m probably not the only one who tries to edit my work without letting my emotions get in the way. By tearing apart that paragraph and making it read better I am not insulting myself. It sounds weird, but I sometimes feel bad about editing my own work because I feel like I should have done better in the first place. Silly, I know, but it happens.
That’s why I’m grateful to the people who read my stuff the day I’ve finished working on it and tell me where things don’t quite line up. I put a lot of myself into my writing, so trusting my readers enough to just give them free reign through my mental playground can be quite nerve wracking.
I know I haven’t posted any writing on here for quite some time, but being able to discuss revelations I’ve made on this blog is so helpful in tracking the progress I’ve made. So, thank you dear readers for listening to my ramblings about life and writing. You keep me honest, and keep me scribbling away.