Sometimes I throw a book down in a fit of disgust because it's so well written, and my own stories seem so juvenile by comparison. I still don't think I'm any good at this writing thing, but I'm getting better at focusing on the improvements I make instead of comparing myself to others. I had no idea why I started this site. I've been groping for a reason, a justification, to help me pull its elements together, and I've come to the following conclusion: It's not so much about being comfortable with people reading what I write but more about showing myself what I can do. It's about taking a stand and declaring to my inner critic that I can fucking do this and I have it in me to become a great writer.
A friend of mine just quit a successful, lucrative career to find his calling. When I heard what he did, something inside me wrenched sideways.
I've been a coward.
For some reason, people think I'm brave, but I'm really not. I laugh writing off as a casual hobby when friends ask me what I've been up to. I pretend this writing thing isn't important to me, but for someone who has always flitted from one activity to the next, the fact that I spend as much time writing as I do working or sleeping means something.
Stories matter. Words matter. And when I write, I feel as if I matter too.
That's not something easy to admit, but here we are. Here I am. This site will always be a work in progress (as am I!), but I thought it particularly apt to update to a new Wordpress theme as a way to mark the occasion.
Textually Frustrated is my writing blog, and I am a writer.