I really don't understand what is compelling me to keep writing these. Especially when there are so many weights insistent on keeping me down. (All weights self-inflicted, I might add.) Like today I my friend emailed me an English assignment because her printer was broken and I asked if I could read it and she said yes and holy crap. It was beautiful. It was an historical fiction assignment where we were supposed to pick a decade and write a 5-page short story. My friend chose the 1960s and wrote this amazing story about a French girl who meets The Beatles in a cafe in Paris. Her writing was so gorgeous--it had impeccable flow and every bit of dialogue made me squeal. But the whole time I was reading it, I kept thinking "this is so much better than mine."
I'm not good at a lot of things. Or at least the things I want to be good at. I'm not good at studying. I'm not good at focusing or socializing or any "talent." I'm a good singer and a decent enough actress, but I don't find those things as much fun as I used to. And every time I failed miserably at something I would always tell myself the same thing, "It's not your skill set. Everyone has things they're good at and things they're not. You can't expect to be good at everything." Then I'd think about my writing. And it made me feel so much better to know I had something I could succeed at.
I thought I could succeed, but recently, (and especially today while reading my friend's paper) I've felt... not my best. Not anywhere near my best. Not even close to my good. Take this post for instance--it's a mess. I have no clever jokes and my wording is poor. Every sentence screams mediocrity. (Okay, I'll admit that one wasn't too bad.)
Maybe this is just a slump. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow or two weeks from now and start churning out brilliance that will made my readers (lol) weep.
That's probably it.
I just hope I don't give up before then.