Sometimes I feel like I’m the worst writer in… ever. Everything I write comes out mutilated like there’s a damn garbage disposal in my fingers. I have this infectious idea – an original concept that is sure to tickle many a fancy – and out comes a halfway coherent sentence that kindasorta simulates a similar atmosphere. It just doesn’t translate.
Other times, I feel like I’m the greatest writer of all time. The Spartacus of literature. All I need is a blank Word document and magic streamlines from my imagination onto my computer the same way fairy godmothers help clean up your room. You know, where everything folds itself neatly into drawers and the broom dances and maybe there’s a dog there for comic relief.
I live in constant conflict with these two identities. The worst writer in the world and the greatest. I try to rationalize these two opposing self-perceptions by proposing the concept that maybe I’m just average. Better than some. Worse than others. Just another flat line in the world.
But goddamn, how depressing is that? I’d rather be the worst writer in the world – so awful that people would flock to read one-of-a-kind shiterature (someone somewhere is copyrighting that as we speak) – than be average. Just another writer just trying to publish just another manuscript.
So, as an ode to my internal struggles, here’s my question today: what is something you feel like sometimes you’re the best at and other times the worst?