Sometimes, when I read other writers, I feel small. Who am I to think I can do anything with my writing voice? I’m not classically trained. I didn’t go to a fancy college. I spent a good chunk of my life making terrible mistakes. Who the fuck am I to think I can do anything with this? Especially with so many other talented writers out there. It makes me think that maybe it’s time to consider a career in retail sales.
Or, I can keep moving forward and take my chances. And maybe I can learn from these writers instead of just considering them as something like foes in a make believe battle of wits. The thing is, I have no idea where this is going. I’ve been writing since I was a kid and have made a decent career with words – so as long as I’m writing, it feels natural. But now there’s this other voice trying to convince me that there’s more to this than just being a ventriloquist who breathes life into commercial appeals for companies of all sizes with a range of audiences and products and promises from sea to shining sea, amen. No, I’ve moved millions of dollars in products and services in my career. I know damn well I can write.
Except, this is different. Trickier. For example, I’ve noticed that if you’re not vigilant, the devil sneaks up on you and starts telling you that your voice is folly. And that you have no business listening to it. Especially considering there are so many other voices that are so much better. Who are you to think you can do something with your tiny, pathetic voice?
That’s when you tell the devil your name, and punch that mutherfucker in the mouth.