Can I ?
I benefited from an education that equipped me with a profound sense of inadequacy, and absolutely no resilience. I think this is partly why I waited so long to start writing properly. What if this, the one thing I felt I was good at, failed too ? I have a long history of failed hobbies, instruments and ideas. The only things I’m really confident in are cooking, gardening and listening to people. And writing.
Ah, but this week. Two competition results. Not even shortlisted. As my dear voice of reason pointed out ‘it’s probably quite hard to win these, how many entries were there? ‘ I mumbled something about 1,300 other entries and tried not to look acknowledge this entirely reasonable fact. Reason has never been something I have allowed myself to be troubled by.
I want to win one, you see, to prove that the effort is worth it, to prove that people aren’t just being kind when they say they like what I write. I’ll ignore the fact that I only seriously began writing again eighteen months ago. I’ll ignore the fact that it takes years to get noticed, published, applauded. I’ll think about stopping.
And then, I wake up with another idea. With another story I want to tell. With the remnants of a ridiculous dream that might, just might be teased into a tale. And I grow brave, and strong and feel like the little train that could.
I want to win. I also want to write.