One of my worst fears is to be a mediocre writer. It wasn’t always like that. Ten years ago I was fearless. I thought I was one of the better writers. But the more I get to know about it, the easier it is to see my flaws. And the more flaws I see, the harder I have to work to fix them. What was once a free and joyful act, thus becomes a procedure of delicately finding ways around my imperfection.
I haven’t truly tested my market value as a writer so far. Sure, I’ve earned some money with it here and there, and yes, I’ve received some feedback, generally positive, I’ve even joined a competition or two (without success), but I never looked for agents or publishers for my work. This is partially because I’m quite busy, but it is also linked to the fact that what I’m trying to sell might be meaningless, or at least not meaningful enough to another.
As I grow older, I have invested more and more time and energy in writing, meaning my work takes an ever bigger place in my life. I hang on to it more and more. You would expect that the quality of the work keeps increasing, but I feel as if I’m hitting an invisible wall somewhere. Something I should pass if I am to improve further.
Perhaps I’m starting to feel the need of an external view by someone whose work I admire. Someone who can crush my self-comforting blindness and can really teach me something about writing. Someone who can force me into this fear of mediocrity and help me acknowledge that indeed, I’m not as good as I hoped I was. Someone who can show me my many areas of improvement.
Or maybe I need to really dig into a specific theme. Write a book, not just ramblings and short stories. Give myself the space to truly develop something that is worth the reader’s while. Create real, living characters who face each other in living situations. My characters always have something rebellious. I don’t know why that is. I don’t find other characters very interesting. Maybe I should broaden my scope.
The key to greatness, where can it be? Perhaps it’s in the struggle.