Sometimes I think I'm nothing but a phony. A fraud. I'm sure everyone can see right through me and immediately know I'm fooling myself thinking I'm a writer. Especially if I'm sitting around with real writers somewhere. They've got It. I'm just a wannabe.
Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland is my current non-fiction read. I liked this:
Fears about artmaking fall into two families: fears about yourself, and fears about your reception by others. In a general way, fears about yourself prevent you from doing your BEST work, while fears about your reception by others prevent you from doing your OWN work.
Under the caption of Pretending is this:
It's easy to imagine that REAL [writers] know what they're doing and that they—unlike you—are entitled to feel good about themselves and their [writing].
These concepts go to the fact that when the Story is in charge, and not Peg, things fly. Characters become individuals, not just people I've created on paper. When my ego steps out of the way, good things happen. Or rather, as a suspense novelist, bad things happen.
Press through self-doubts, ego, and the needs both those imposters create. Press through the fear until the story is all there is and ride the wave.
I'm only a fraud if that's what I believe myself to be. And I'm not.
I'm a writer.
Still reading Fractured. It's well done (Slaughter is a REAL writer), but I must say, I like shorter chapters.
It's all better with friends.