“You’re a great writer,” they’ve all said. Family, friends, professors, and even strangers still say that. Of course. It’s like when you don a new haircut and people say they love it, or when you bake someone a cake. “This is to die for.”
I think we toss around compliments too loosely, causing a false sense of greatness in the catcher of the kind words. Sometimes, though, there’s proof in the pudding, and I’m not sure how long I should wait to taste it.
My story is in the hands of a local news organization, and although I’ve received no reply, there’s still hope. If they don’t want it, I will move on to another, but what if they don’t want it either? I continuously pore over the words, wondering if I should change them. I look for mistakes and generally boring information.
Feature writing is my passion, and I know I can do it because I already have some pieces published, but my sense of self and confidence in my writing is taking a hit.
Writing is considered an art more and more these days, and even falls into that category in certain colleges. As with any medium, the artist needs to know when to stop, and get a real job.
When does one begin to feel silly and see it for what it is? Dori says, “Keep on swimming,” but the water, at least the water I tread, is icy cold.
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