That feeling that you’re just playing at something, that you’re not REALLY something. I sit at my computer some mornings and think to myself, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS??? I’ve been looking at my own words and my stories and wondering what in the world I was thinking that I could be someone who others would want to read.
It’s a real struggle and something my brain constantly churns with. Something I have to try and push out and aside on those few hours I reserve for writing. I sit. And I stare. And sometimes the words come and I feel good about it. Good about what I’ve done and will do.
Because here’s the thing guys, I love to write. I love to tell stories. And on the days that I feel like I shouldn’t be doing it (because, it’s not that I can’t, it’s that I shouldn’t) because I’m not some great wondrous talent, I remember how much I love it. That when I first sat down that afternoon while waiting for a faculty meeting to start and I began my very first manuscript, that it was just because I had a scene in my head. Because I wanted to write.
So, to my fellow Imposters. Let’s write. Let’s write because we enjoy it and because it fills something in our soul. Let’s just write.