So today, two people tore my work to shreds. According to them, my work was disorganized and confusing. At first, I felt completely defeated. My feelings echoed my too often thoughts of I’ll never be good enough. Then, I sat back to consider the audience. I realized the work was considered disorganized and confusing because three of us were looking at the same project from different angles. While they felt they were looking at a pile of laundry, I felt I was looking at the path to the washer.
It made me realize there is no pleasing everyone, so I might as well just stop trying. I keep saying I am on a mission to finish my book. These critics have sparked something in me now, and I’m writing more than ever.
Well, I was, until the next battle came along. Someone started directing me on how to write and where to put words almost as if they don’t know how I write. As if they didn’t know I write with a natural rhythm and style that can’t be directed. The beats will land where they land, and they usually land right where they need to be. I know it isn’t purposeful, but I haven’t even started matching the beat and rhythm the words need to have yet – I haven’t inked a single letter for that project.
Oddly enough, I am not defeated. I am inspired. And writing.
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