I’ve been struggling to write these past few weeks. The value I was adding to my writing has diminished significantly over that time, and all I see are the flaws, the lack of eloquence, the adolescent quality.
I really am a crappy writer.
For years I have struggled with this. My writing lacks depth. At least, that is exactly what I tell myself all the time. It has only been confirmed lately from my lack of publication or even response from publications. Maybe it comes from that dark place called introspection as well.
I have writer’s depression.
I’ve had it for a while now.
The fact is I know that a lot of published writers have had hundreds of rejection letters. I know that rejection is just a part of being a writer, and I generally accept that. I keep all of mine to help me improve. But lately, they have helped to cripple me.
For months I was writing every week, and I felt stronger for it. Then work and exercize and general laziness got in the way. I took a week break that turned into months. Sure, I wrote a few pieces. I joined a competition. I went through the motions of being a writer, but all pieces bar the competition essay, I rated some of my worst work yet.
But week after week I looked at my writing. I compared it to my peers. I reached for their quality, their eloquence, their flawless prose, and I fell short.
I’m not as good a writer as them.
This has only been accented by the fact that I am so utterly happy for them. Some of their work has gone on to be trending in publications and shares across multiple blogs, social media, etc.
They are achieving the success that I so crave. They’re great writers, and I’m just lucky to be able to call them peers.
But it feels like there’s this spotlight on me now to do the same – to be the same (one of my own making, I might add), and I am absolutely frightened that I will never be at that same standard. I will never see publication because my life is too normal – too boring, and my writing is a direct reflection of that.
What if I never was the writer I claimed to be?
The only hope I have is that all this word vomit will help – that it will finally bring me out of my anxious state so I can get back to what I love doing.
I just need to convince myself that it’s a worthwhile endeavor.