I've experienced a strange up and down journey with my confidence as a writer this week. I've been working on a short story which I plan to submit to Shots Magazine - an online e-magazine.
It was in a flurry of creativity that I churned out this 3,000 word story a few weekends back; finished the first draft in just over 2 hours. At the time, I thought it was a well written piece, beautifully paced and not a bad little tale.
Now, it's giving me the irits. I sat down this week to do my first rewrite, give it a few tweaks here and there, correct a few spelling errors; nothing major.
Instead, I've given it a complete overhaul and I'm not happy with it. Maybe it was the care free approach I took when I did my first draft that gave me that air of confidence. For once, what I had in my head translated perfectly onto the page. Of course, that was before I re-read it.
Now I start my evenings (because my writing has recently been delegated to the dark pit of after work hours) working on draft 2 and by the end of the 90 minute session, I have the confidence of an English batsmen facing a fired up leg spinner on a day 5 pitch with massive footmarks outside his leg stump.
Funny thing is, this plummet in confidence used to depress me for ages and I would take forever to get "back on my feet"; get back to the writing. These last few mornings (after my writing session from hell), however, I've felt chippa; I've fired myself up, telling myself I can do better, that my dreams of becoming a writer are not just a large pile of steaming poo ready to be shoveled into the garden. This can only be a good thing.
However, I'm still on this emotional rollercoaster ride - and it's only a bloody short story! Does not bode well for a 100k word novel, now does it?
Oh well, I must press on. It's late and I plan to forgo any writing tonight and get back into the morning routine - by all accounts I should be as positive and self-believing as Mr Cricket on a flat pitch.
Call me: Mr Writer.