The Beat Goes On

Surprisingly.

Though I'm under no illusions that more than a handful of people have read my work, it is achieving its purpose; I'm writing more than ever and feeling better about the results. I've got a second novel about to be sent off to the publisher and a third one well on the way to being an entity in and of itself.

I find this work challenging, every single day, and while not I'm going to lie and claim my most recent effort was the best thing I've ever written, this process, this forced creativity, is a great way to keep my mind moving, keep my fingers slipping across the keyboard no matter how I may feel that particular day.

I'm discovering more and more that what I think about my own writing changes on a daily basis; sometimes I feel as though I'm on the verge of greatness and at other moments I wonder at the hubris that brought me so far as to think that I might amount to anything. It's my own personal belief that this questioning, this distaste for one's own work is what leads many writers to quit, to give up their craft until such time as the muse comes and inspiration hits. While I've certainly felt my share of inspiration, some of the best things I've written have come at times I've felt supremely uninspired and utterly foolish about my work.

The joys of the written word.