Whether you’re any good is a secondary question.
Do you have stories inside you bursting to get out?
Am I any good?
I get this question a lot. Mostly at conferences, in one-on-one critique sessions. It usually pops up late in the conversation, after I’ve discussed the writer’s sample pages and given my critiques. Then there’s a pause, and the aspiring author sitting across from me looks as if he’s about to make some awful confession, like the curtain of polite discourse is about to fall, and we’re going to get to the real, unvarnished and possibly painful truth.
“So, am I any good?”
There are subtle variations. Sometimes it’s “Is this any good?” or “Do you think I can get this published?” But even when the question seems to be about the pages in hand, I can tell the real question is:
“Me— am I any good at writing, a craft which defines my life and my hopes and anxieties? Am I any good at this…
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