Last week, I was practicing reading one of my poems aloud by recording it on my iPhone and then listening to the recordings. I did a few I thought were pretty decent, and decided to set them aside so I could listen to them later with an unbiased ear. Maybe I’ll put one of them up on a blog post, I thought.
Several hours later, I plugged in my headphones and listened to the recordings again. My first reaction? “Goddamn. That fucking sucks.”
I hit delete on both recordings without a second thought.
I do that sometimes with poems I write. I do that sometimes with passages I’ve written. I do that sometimes with entire chapters.
“Goddamn. That fucking sucks.” Highlight. Select. Delete.
Every writer, I imagine, is prone to bouts of writerly self-doubt. Art in general is such a tenuous thing – striking the right balance between vulnerability and confidence…
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