Impostor syndrome has me down today. Worry that no one will ever like anything I write, because I’m not a real writer (or not a real good one), and everything has been done, and I should bin it all and get a ‘real job.’
As the sketch points out, Rome wasn’t built in a day. So when my dog took me for a walk, I asked myself, as I often do, “If you decide to have fun, and enjoy writing very bad stuff, that never ever gets sold or published, for the rest of your life, will you be happy?”
My answer was still “yes.” Yes, I just enjoy the sounds of words in my head. Yes, I am not going to stop describing things internally. Yes, wondering about the in-progress stories all around me, constantly entertains and entices me. Yes, I trust that one day I’ll get good enough to translate my intentions to the written word.
But not by following anyone’s footsteps, doing what’s always been done, or trying to be anyone except who I am. I am someone who is a little down today, so I’m taking the afternoon off to focus on something else.