Some days are harder than others.
Terry Brooks (one of my favorite authors growing up) has a wonderful book called Sometimes The Magic Works. But the truth is, sometimes it doesn’t work. A lot of times, in fact.
Some days my prose is poetic. Others, it’s downright drivel. Yesterday was one of the latter. I couldn’t string together a satisfactory sentence to save my life (all the while remembering how productive I’d been not two days before).
In his book On Writing, Stephen King claims that with a lot of hard work, a competent writer may become a good writer, but a good writer will never be a great writer. You’re either born with it in your blood, or you aren’t. I’m inclined to agree. I’ll never be a great writer. Hell, I may never be a good writer. But I’m going to try.
Sadly, recognizing wretched writing is not the same as knowing how to fix said writing. Some days it feels like my writer-mind and my reader-mind are at war. My reader-mind knows a stilted sentence needs to be cut. My writer-mind can’t let go. On these days, I have to remind myself why I write. I write because I want to. I write because I need to.
God, that sounds pretentious.
Maybe no one outside the select few upon whom I inflict my book (or even this blog) will ever read my work…but that’s okay. I’m enjoying the journey, even when it’s frustrating, even when nothing but rubbish spews from my pen. And for now, that’s sufficient.
Alright…enough writing about writing. Let’s see if today the magic works.