This is a eureka-moment sentiment. It’s just such an honest admission, and instead of telling me it’s ok not to write, it says it’s ok to write cr*p for a few years. The important thing is that you re writing, and getting out out of your system. Digging for precious stones, perhaps. I haven’t been writing at all, and I’m working up to starting again. It’s so easy to quit when you’ve had a bad run. Basically everything I’ve tried to write in the last few years I have been deeply unhappy with because it was NOT GOOD. So I gave up. Not enough physical space, or head space, or something. However I had cause to make up a little portfolio of sorts, and as I dug out the pieces I could be proud of I was temporarily heartened. I had the pleasant, satisfying experience of going through old Derry Journal editions on the microfilm machine in the Central Library to locate my story ‘Megan’s Mail’ which won the Christmas Short Story competition the newspaper ran in 2009. I stayed up in Halls an extra night to write it, first year at University. It’s actually still good, I was happily surprised.
Still, upwards and onwards eh? I feel like a cheater posting this, as I sent it in an email to my Auntie recently, and she advised me about this article from The Guardian – writers talking about Failure. It’s in the exact same vein, and so interesting and comforting and honest. Very worth reading.
Have a warm hopeful feeling about us all failing together, at least then we are trying.