Damian and I taking a selfie in the Mini
05 December 2016

I lack confidence. I really like, and am proud of, about half of what I write. The other half makes me cringe; it makes me internally shrink. I don’t know how to walk this painful line of opposites, of pain and pleasure. I don’t know how to speak. I don’t know how to be me… all of me. I am a writer. I have finally, almost 50 years into my life, accepted this as fact, and to exist without that part of me is to live only half a life.

So, given that I only like about half of what I write and I’m not happy unless I write, I guess I had better learn to become one hell of an editor, separating the wheat of my own writing from its chaff. How hard could that be, right? 😉