Yesterday’s story wasn’t that good. I knew it when I wrote it and I know it now. It took me longer than usual to complete and the quality was a little more lacking as well. I still posted it because I promised to write something every day. It did not feel good though.
Then I got to thinking.
The fact that I choose to write every day does not make me a writer. It means I’m trying to become one. That takes time, effort and missteps. Yesterday was an obvious misstep.
And that’s okay.
When I’m looking at the quality of my writing, I’m comparing it to established writers that have been doing it for years. It’s a good benchmark on what is considered ‘good’ but I should not be sad when I don’t reach those levels.
Especially when I wish to write a little story every day.
Good writing takes time, as I mentioned before. Solid well thought out articles require research, contemplation and revision. I don’t give myself the luxury of those things for my daily writing. Nor should I want those.
I put the pen to the figurative pad on January 1st without any preconceptions about what daily writing should entail. What it should provide. At this moment, I think it should be nothing more than an exercise. A sharpening of the pen. A deepening of the understanding.
My writing can be pretty good when I take my time. I believe that. If I want to, I should be able to produce these lengthy essays that I look up to now. I know it’s within my range of powers. At this time though, it’s time for patience.
I should write more bad stories, like yesterday.