I suppose that this story began when I was 16 years old. I had just written the first draft of a novel called Nera and when I read it again I saw cliche’. I saw Naivety. I saw that it wasn’t as good as the works of fiction that I had read and that’s when I decided that I wasn’t good enough to be a writer.
Maybe someday, when I was older I would be able to spell better. My grammar would be more correct. My ideas would be less cliche’. For now I was a failure. A bad writer. I should stop.
And did I stop writing?
I stopped showing my work to anyone, but I wrote it nonetheless. I pursued my other interests such as science. Science was easy. Writing was hard.
Now I’m in my forties and I am a science teacher, and my contract is coming up. My “safe” job is over and i have to make a decision. Play it safe, or leap.
“Don’t quit your day job kid!” That’s what the voices in my head say. That as well as “Who do you think you are?” and “You’re going to die! Don’t be crazy.”
But which is crazier? Keeping a job that increasingly feels to me like work, or denying what I like to do for decades because of a fear that others would call me a failure.
A failed writer is one who doesn’t write, not one who writes poorly. A poor writer can in time become a good writer, but only with practice, and only if they show their work. So I ask you . Yes I am talking to you.
I ask you to read my work which I will publish now after all these years through this blog to give me an honest critique of my work. Is it good? Is it poor? Is it worth going on?
The truth is that I will keep writing no matter what you say. This is what I have learned through years of experience. That no career begins unless you are willing to take the first step. That dreams only are possible when you let yourself go. When you try.
I think that now I am a pretty good writer. A writer who is not as good as I would like to be, but certainly much better than I was. I am beginning to walk the path of a writer. A path that travels through dangers and insecurities. I have my sword, or at least my keyboard, and I have begun my quest for recognition. Will I succeed and become an artist that makes things other wish to read, or is this simply the delusional fantasy of a soon to be our of work failure who is so afraid of life that they submerge themselves in a drugged dream to ignore reality.
I don’t know. You tell me. Is this my hero’s journey, or simply a heroine trip?
More to follow.