Wednesday, April 30, 2014

The insecurity of writers...A lighthearted little post :)

This post was inspired by the lovely Marie Astra. Thanks for being a fan! :)


For those who have known me for a while, it's no secret that I'm not the most confident person in the world. Sure, I can hide my insecurities behind a smile and a self-deprecating sense of humor. That's kind of an artist thing, if you stop and think about it. Not than I can even COMPARE myself to the talent that is Richard Armitage, but we all know how he is. Humble, sweet, silly - and completely at a loss when it comes to understanding what we see in him, both inside and out. Now, I may be just an obscure fan who happens to write a story now and then, which only a handful of people will read. But I feel ya, Richard. I think I kind of know what's it's like to be baffled by honest, overwhelming support and love, especially when you've spent most of your life having the total opposite.

Like I said, it's an artist thing. And if you're not an artist, it might be hard to understand why we (Actors and writers, specifically) are so tough on ourselves. Why do we always resort to taking shots at ourselves? Why do we stammer and blush when it comes to compliments? Well, I think I can explain it. At least, from my own point of view...


When I was growing up, I loved everything that was artistic. I loved reading, drawing, painting, music. Anything. I also loved to tell stories. I used to make up stories for my dolls and they each played a role in little productions I would put on. No joke, I had these stories scripted. I was the director, and everyone had their part. This was serious stuff, people.

I tried to share my stories with others. My sisters, for instance. But they were only interested in taking their dolls "Shopping" or boring stuff like that. *Pfffttt*...

Barbie? PLEASE! I like my heroines kick-ass

As I got older and stopped playing with dolls and such, I started writing my stories down on paper. There's something about a person scribbling on paper that attracts attention. People would always be peeking over my shoulder, wondering what I was doing. When I would tell them I was writing a story, their interest always peaked within a minute or two. I would let them look at my work, and they would always hand it back to me with a "Meh" look in their eyes, but a fake smile on their face. I don't know what they were hoping to see. Goth poetry, maybe? The sad/angry ramblings of a teenager, full of angst and self-pity? Seriously, I think my mother and other family members were hoping for that. I was such a dull adolescent.

Ah! A problem child! YAY! Something to work on...

I think they were disappointed to find that my words formed an actual narrative that the reader had to invest their time in. In my house, literature pretty much consisted of the Bible, a few cook books, and the TV Guide. Thank heavens the local library was within walking/bike-riding distance.


When I wrote and self-published my first novel, I was so excited. It was thrilling to feel the paperback and the hardcover versions of my work in print. I said to myself, "This is legitimate, people. This is the real thing. Maybe now you'll really want to share this with me. You'll see the artist I am, and we will connect. Finally."

I did what every first-time published writer does. I had lots of copies printed. I signed them all, and handed them out to everyone who asked for one. Family, mostly. It's like an unwritten rule - every member of your family must show enthusiasm for your great artistic achievement, even if they've never read anything beyond "The Cat in The Hat." They all congratulated me and said how they couldn't wait to read it. Blah, blah, blah. I hoped they were being sincere, but I knew in the back of my mind that they were just being polite. They're family, after all. But I was kind of hoping at least some of my relations would give it a try.

Turns out, none of them even looked at it. When they saw me, they would say, "That book was great!" Then I would test them with a question, such as, "What character did you like the most?" And the answer was always along the lines of "I liked them all."

Really? You liked the scumbag fiance who almost killed the main character? You liked the abusive father who mentally wrecked his only daughter, and you liked the passive-aggressive mother who stood by and did nothing? Yep, you really read this book. *Rolling of my eyes.*

*Sigh Again*

"Friends" aren't much better than family. I have often told people that I'm a writer, and I've handed out paperback copies of my books. They take the gift, seeming to be so happy to get it. They even ask me to sign it, which I do, if somewhat reluctantly. But after the book has left my hands and left my sight, I never hear about it again. Not a word. I don't bother asking the recipient what they thought of the story. I know I would get the same old, "It was great!" Ugh! I can't stand hearing that when I know it's a complete lie. If they would just say "I didn't care for it," at least I would know they read it. At least the response would be honest.

So, in short, this is an example of where writers like me get their insecurity. It's a very common tale.

But thanks to lovely folks like you, I'm slowly starting to believe that my writing can find an audience. I've always believed in myself and my own work, but now I'm starting to see that others have faith in my abilities too. Maybe one of these days, I'll be confident enough to take a compliment and not question it. :)

To all of the wonderful, generous people who have become my fans and friends, I love you all! I wouldn't be where I am without you! :)

My deepest thanks, dear ladies


  1. Reactions to post: sadness :-(

    OMG! This story should be disappointing, but not much. I perfectly know there are families where talents are not encouraged, I don't know why: envy? indifference? pursuit of different merits?

    I encourage my kids developing whatever skill they have, instead, hoping they'll be happier adults with sufficient self esteem to follow their projects and dreams.

  2. Awww! I didn't realize you had a blogspot (I follow you on wattpad). I love your stories and you should never let other people's actions bother you. I know it is much easier said than done, but I know when you raise your expectations on someone's opinion on your story too high, it hurts when it is dashed.
    But I'm never able to finish my stories let alone publish them. Be proud of your accomplishments. The Greeks believed that immortality is received to those who have acquired fame in the form of art (don't take my word on that, my English Lit teacher in H.S. told me that and I have been embarrassed before for repeating my teachers' words and ending up being wrong).