The last couple of weeks have been quite off-kilter. I feel slightly scatterbrained and slightly all over the place (but just slightly… let’s get that straight). Buuuuuut!
I’ve gotten my manuscript printed! Isn’t it pretty?!
I’ve already read through most of it. Reading it objectively? Close to impossible. But I’m trying. I’m trying also not to judge it too harshly, although that’s my first instinct. Every sentence, every word, every comma – I want to study and obsess over it and try to recreate it. To achieve what? I don’t even know. I remember somebody, a friend of my family’s, mentioning that I’ll never be 100% satisfied with it – that I should just try to be 80% satisfied with it. I think I am. Or maybe 63%, give or take.
Does there ever come a point where I stop being so hard on myself? If not, what does this say for my writing, for my desire to learn or grow? Should I be so hard on myself? I don’t know, I don’t know… Doesn’t seem like I have the choice not to be.
In the meantime, I keep telling myself this:
A professional writer is an amateur writer that did not quit.