There are times, like today, when I write and feel like the pen doesn’t capture exactly what is coming out of my mind. It’s like the language and words betray that perfect image I have in my head. It frustrates me and I get down on myself and think that I am not worthy of being a wordsmith, a writer.
Then, I read something like this quote from Neil Gaiman (in an interview he did on Goodreads.com):
And I’m glad I waited. I think it’s a better book than I set out to write 23 years ago, and I feel like the gods smiled on me, and I got very lucky. Normally, in anything I do, I’m fairly miserable. I do it, and I get grumpy because there is a huge, vast gulf, this aching disparity, between the platonic ideal of the project that was living in my head, and the small, sad, wizened, shaking, squeaking thing that I actually produce. And then there is The Graveyard Book, which is, I think, the first time I’ve felt really satisfied.
And suddenly, I don’t feel so bad about what I have written.