I wonder sometimes whether I'm a bad writer.
Even though I've been writing my current WIP (Seven Thunders), I am not following the old adage of writing every day. In fact, my current strategy works so far against that grain that I'm wondering the above thought.
As I've discussed before about the evolution of my writing book-length manuscripts, I started very much on the writing-every-day pattern, but especially with last year's lessons I've backed away from that to a considerable extent. What that means is that I write less when I have the time to and more when I make the time. What that means is that I'm continually fighting a panic. I know there are no deadlines in writing other than editorial mandates and personal goals, and since I don't have the former I'm only working on the latter. But I still sometimes wonder if I'm doing it wrong. I have eight chapters left to write to complete the book by the end of the year. I began in October, and in November unofficially participated in NaNoWriMo partly to keep myself on track because I did not write what I would've liked the first month. This month I'm learning more and more that my strategy both works for and against my goals. I'm reasonably certain I can do what I set out to do, but all the while fighting the urge to call myself a failure because it seems like so much of a struggle, when it really shouldn't.
Maybe part of it has to do with the fact that I do not make a living writing, and the stuff I do for a living is not personally fulfilling and barely pays the bills, and I've been blogging to an increasing extent over the past few years to help compensate, but all this blogging also seems at times to be a distraction from the creative writing that I know I want to do. But what if it's not a distraction? I've been struggling to figure out who I am as a writer ever since I graduated from college without any clear plan as to how to use my degree. That's what a lot of English Majors do, I guess, because there is no English profession, only a series of compromises, work-for-hires and contracts that you have to continually work toward just to try and get, because there are millions of competitors (even if that number isn't accurate, it surely seems that way), and if you don't get on that right away, you end up with a lot of jobs the few skills you have aside from writing allow you to get.
I don't know what the majority of my blogging friends do to make the money that allows them to blog and be aspiring full-time writers. I continually fight the feeling of jealousy for those who seem successful enough that they have legions of supporters and established indy writing careers, but how much of that is a digital illusion and only in my own head, I don't know. Some of these guys are doing stuff during the day that I couldn't begin to imagine myself doing. A lot of the people I went to school with do the same thing, and I have no idea how it was apparently so easy for that to happen, or so easy for me to fall so easily off that track. I'm not one to complain too much about that, because there are hidden developments to everything and I like to find them, and what I like to remind myself is that I would not have written (or be writing) any of what I have if I hadn't done exactly what I did, even if I have no awesome publishing contracts (so far) to show for it.
So while I'm busy sweating the maneuvering of how to write those eight chapters (5,000 words each) in the remaining weeks of December while apparently procrastinating as long as possible, I have to keep reminding myself that this is exactly what my life is and that I shouldn't complain too much.