A day or two ago an author friend of mine on Facebook commented that she secretly enjoyed reading someone’s published work and then realizing that she could write better than they could.
Well, Ingrid, you’re not alone there. Writing is a solitary, very often thankless, job. And we have to take joy wherever we can find it.
I mentioned the other day being treated like a rock star by a class full of sixth graders last year. The reality is, there are very few sixth graders who even know who I am. But I can fantasize, can’t I? Not about sixth graders, of course. That would be terribly wrong.
One of the other joys I secretly indulge in is reading my own stuff. I know; there are purists there who never revisit their craft after they have created something. They are such perfectionists that they immediately see all the cracks and crevices in what they have created. Well, I’m more of glass half full kind of guy. I know I am not the world’s greatest writer. I know my stuff has flaws, and often that’s why I come back to it. But if no one else is going to read my stuff, at least I should give myself the opportunity to revisit my old friends in my manuscript.
And that’s what I am setting out to do today. Currently I am working my way through the three-book Christian suspense set called The Champion that will either be published mainstream or independent one of these days. I have hired my friend Edward Cheever to edit it for me. But before that happens, I need to do whatever I can to clean it up.
That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the process. I told my wife when I proposed to her that we would probably be as poor as church mice. And even though that hasn’t happened because of no income, we aren’t rich by any means.
That just leaves enjoying what you do. There’s no shame in that, is there?