I've been reading a lot about writing in the words of other authors. One thing that strikes me is how miserable their craft makes them. It sounds like they really struggle with words and wallow in frustration until they have those few days that make the insufferable weeks and months worth everything they endure.
All of that misery makes me question if I'm really a writer or if I'm a writer, but not a very good one. Sure, I have frustrating days where I'm too tired to write clear sentences or my thoughts are too muddy to string together the right words, but those are fewer in number than the good writing days.
As long as I know where I want the story to go, the words flow pretty steadily. I go back and read through later and revise, but the gist of it comes out the way I wanted it to the first time around. I don't often find myself staring at my computer screen not knowing what to write. That doesn't mean I won't go back and alter something to take it in a slightly different direction later, but I don't have to rewrite it completely.
I feel the most frustration when I'm trying to write in a finite amount of space about something complicated like finance or law. When I get home and sit in front of my personal computer and have no limits on what I can write, the boundaries of newspaper writing and constraints of commercial real estate matters lift and I'm free to write as much or as little on whatever subject I choose. Somehow it's less challenging.
My relative confidence makes me worry that I'm not a real writer, since I'm not suffering for my art. I suppose that makes my biggest frustration the lack of misery that I feel as I sit here night after night stringing words together. I just hope the finished product that I manage to feel so good about doesn't make other people miserable when they read it.
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