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Reading is both a blessing and a curse, it seems. It's what fuels much of my writing but it can also make me stall. Puts a nasty dent in my complex. I think, gosh... how I'd love to write a book like this. And man, my book is far, far, far from ever being this awesome. Why aren't I this brilliant? Why do I even bother? Bwaaaa!
I love me a fantabulous book as much as the next reader/writer, but geez, it does sting the self-confidence a little. Or a lot.
Does everyone else deal with this? Do you have a coping mechanism? I guess I just hunker down with my writing and remind myself that I have my own unique story to tell, in a way that no one else can, and try to take comfort in that.
But I'm allowed to stick out my lip and stomp my foot a little while doing so, right?
Posted by Casey Something on Monday, March 30, 2009