Brains are stupid

Listen, I have no idea why I feel differently about being a writer than I did a few days ago, but I do. Is it the period of quiet introspection with my pen-and-ink journal that gave me a chance to work out how I feel? Is it the conversation I had with a friend? Is it the weather? Is it the restful splash of scotch I had last night after a long, hard day?

Who knows?

Maybe it's that I've been reading a book of short stories by famous, successful authors. My reaction to them has been a mixture of, "Gosh, that's a well-set scene! Gosh, that's an interesting character!" and "Ugh, why is this character so boring? Ugh, what a formulaic plot twist! Ugh, what a dumb resolution!"

There is no stronger goad than the feeling of, "Hell, I could do better than that!"

Granted, I still don't have any fresh ideas, but I have a reworked second draft of an existing novel-in-progress I can dive back into. Will it eventually be a good book?

It'll be as good as I can make it, and that's enough.

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Landless by Tony Noland. If you like the blog, try one of the books.

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Published on January 15, 2015 06:57
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message 1: by Robyn McIntyre (new)

Robyn McIntyre When stuff like this happens, I like to quote Mr. Spock: "A difference that makes no difference *is* no difference." Whether the insight comes from a cumulative tiny pokes in the brain or one orgasmic flash of light, as long as you get them, why worry? In any case, feelings of inadequacy, adequacy, and other bizarre writing-related maladies end up making no difference, either. We will write whether or not we want to and regardless of how good we think it is. It's insanity. No one would choose it. But for good or ill, it chooses us.


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