
I can't write that well. Not yet.
And it KILLS me. I've spent a lot of time lately throwing myself off metaphorical cliffs, slamming my own head into metaphorical walls, screaming at myself to STOP WRITING, because you're just NO DAMN GOOD AT IT!
Did I tell you about that thing I read somewhere recently, about the only difference between published writers and unpublished writers is confidence? Not quality of work. Confidence. Hm.
I've also found myself slogging through the slush-pile that is independently published writing. Forget your preconceived notions about authors who publish their own works-- there's a lot of GOOD stuff out there. There's also a lot of crap. Some of it got published. Crap. Published. Just the other day, I downloaded a free book to my Kindle from an indie author of urban fantasy. Sounded good. She had so many books available. So many published, some for free, some for pay. Two pages in, and it's crap. Laughably bad. And it's not the genre and it's not the premise and it's not the topic or even the over-arching plot. It's the damn writing. Adverbs. Cliches. Too much telling and not enough showing.
But, damn. I've got to love this author's confidence.
For the record (a cliche record!), I've been reading some really good stuff, for free, off Amazon, from indie authors. If you are interested in this sort of thing, check out Kindle Scout. They call it "reader powered publishing" and it's a great place for new authors to offer up some really great stories.
Maybe someday that's where I'll go. When the writing's good enough. It's not there yet. But it will be.
Until then.
Enjoy,
LLH
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