Jinked

There are a handful of coworkers who read this blog. Most would cringe at the admittance of that, but I think is pretty darn fantastic. If the people who put up with me 8 hours a day find me and my life interesting outside of work, that’s 100% cool by me. I say, “Read on, my friends. Read on.”

Anyhow, a guy this morning said that he read my post last night. Said I was a good writer. He also gave me two Molly Bea’s Ingredient coupons so I had even more reason to go back.

I had forgotten that people outside myself may enjoy my writing. Hell, they may even think I’m good at it. For so long I’ve pitted my own harsh criticism against my writing skill.

“Nichole, you’re not producing anything. You’re not writing fiction. Your personal projects will never get finished. You will never have anything to publish. You’re not looking for an agent. Your writing will decline. Your muses will leave. Your art will die.”

To have one person tell me they like the way I write… it’s more than I could ever ask for. It gives me hope.

Yes, I’ve been slogging through a creative writing drought. Yes, it’s been going on for the past year and a half. It’s beyond terrible. I would love to pin the blame on the separation from Tre, on work, on just not having time to sit down and do it, but I can’t because I know that all the blame lies within myself. Only I can write; no one else can do it for me.

Thanks Karl for giving me a little bit of much-needed faith in myself.