For the second time this month, I feel inadequate amongst these masters of critique in a group in which I am a member. Able to pick up every little unanswered question, misunderstanding, or misuse of an element of the writing craft itself. I feel like a cricket surrounded by hungry hornets. Maybe this would be true of any critique group I would be a part of. It's tough when a critique hits my confidence as a writer, but I must pick myself back up, knowing it will be knocked down again at the next meeting. Why do I do this?
Because I love to tell the story? Why couldn't it be just the first draft, built with all the necessary pieces to bring completeness and satisfaction to the reader? No. I, the author, seem to need perfection based on what has been demonstrated in storytelling for thousands of years.
Writing is hard. I hear that repeatedly. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it. With over 300 million books available for reading, I think everyone is doing it.
Maybe writing well is hard, and 200 of the 300 million books out there are unworthy of reading. That could be, but I don't have time to read 300 million books and make that determination. My time is better spent pounding plastic keys in front of an LCD screen pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this work I call a book.
Oh wait. I need to go over the critique notes and make all these needed changes. All part of the process of learning this craft. Ugh.
It’s okay…two hours later the changes are complete, the words now fresh, clear, and alive.
Keep writing.
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