There's got to be something wrong for me to feel this much shame about the writing, though. And I can't find a solution.

I'm not saying this from a hairpat standpoint, Allyson, I'm saying this as one professional writer to another-- the good writers-- the ones who last-- rarely, if ever, feel completely confident in their writing. We sit here and we sweat (not in the Cliff Burns over every word sort of way) and we cry (and God knows, I've done my share of sobbing over the keyboard and in the shower lately) and suffer crises of confidence and are convinced we suck.

And then we go back to the keyboard and we do our damndest to put our best work down. And still, we're never convinced it's as good as it can be. That's why we keep getting better. And it's what we put into our work-- that extra bit of soul, that makes it stick with readers. And your work-- it does that. It stays with readers.

It's kind of how Tom Hanks explained baseball in A League of Their Own-- if it was easy, everyone would do it. And it's the people who think writing's easy or that their work is the absolute shit without working at it, who produce the biggest loads of crap.

You don't do that.

Most writers tend to hate what they write while in process, Allyson, that's one of the reasons writing is so damn hard. Early drafts involve endlessely dealing with one's limitations and it's frustrating and depressing as hell. At least I always find it to be so, and so have most writers I know. Good writers--like you.

What I think you need to work on is your tendency to make hating on the writing to hating on yourself. You need to work on boundaries, since that the work you do is separate from you and not a referendum on you as a person. Your first drafts will always suck and you will always question their validity and whether your story/words/ideas/ are any good--that's part of the process. Ice fishing requires hours in the cold, writing requires doubts and frustration. The time spent in the cold does not make the ice fisherman a bad person, and the doubts don't make you one either.

I've read poorly written (published!) stuff that the authors should have felt ashamed of and this isn't it. I know the voices in your head can be hard to ignore but are the voices outside, those telling you that your story is engaging and well written, are they helping?

If you do decide it's a failure--which it doesn't seem to be--I found a comforting quote:

"Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure." - George Eliot -

It hurts that you're ashamed of it, Allyson. You really shouldn't be. I think Scrappy is, as usual, very wise.

Everyone wants to be better, and everyone has doubts, and everyone struggles to translate what's in their heads to the page, and honestly, that's normal. That's GOOD. (It's the Cliff Burns of the world who think every word they write is gold, and generally have no perspective or objectivity OR willingness to grow and learn.)

I just wish I had some way to convince you to have fun with this. To let it come, and go back to it later to revise and tweak and reshape.

It's helpful to be able to be able to see it reflected back at me through other people.

I don't know how to separate me from the work, as Scrappy says, and as Tim keeps telling me. It feels like trying to separate my toes from my feet.

I know I don't want to do it anymore, but I'm obligated to finish, which means three more chapters of ripping veins out of my arms....she says with no small amount of melodrama.

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." -Gene Fowler

I think if you just love every word that drops from your fingertips to the page, you're Anne Rice.

Allyson, I hope the last three chapters go really fast for you, ripping out veins sounds uncomfortable in the extreme.

For those of you who thought I'd left my cookie jar drabbles behind, this follows on right after the very first one I wrote SailAweigh "The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time..." Feb 3, 2008 8:03:41 am PST:

Hat Trick

"Got any spare change, buddy?"

The man glanced at her and then down at her tip jar. Face averted, he entered the McDonald's next to her. Another puffed up high-hatter, eating cheap before blowing half his paycheck in the bars lining State Street. Third one that night, who couldn't even spare a quarter. Her breath puffed out in disgust. She bent over to count the coins in the jar, when a bag was thrust toward her. Off balance, she clutched it to her chest, the smell of warm burgers and fries drifting to her nose.

She met his eyes. "Thanks."

Allyson, here's something to read when you start thinking you can't write: [link]

BTW, Sail, meant to say I really loved how you turned that on its ear. It was lovely. And I could just smell the burgers and fries and damned if I didn't want some Mickey D's fries in that moment.