The new year has brought all kinds of things I don't want to deal with already, and it's only the 5th. First, I'm learning to drive (for real this time), a prospect that delights everyone but me. I resent the implication that because I hate driving there is something 'wrong' with me and that something must be 'fixed' so I can be like everyone else. What is wrong about not wanting to drive around in a machine that has the potential to kill other people as the result of single moment of carelessness?
Another thing is that a grammar Nazi (I myself am one, so I say that without disdain) has found my story and is now contenting herself with boiling it down to style, diction, and other similar issues. While I'm glad I have a sense of grammar decent enough to thwart her on that front, it is not enough. Apparently, my style and diction are terrible, at least for the first two chapters of Blood Pledge, which is all she has reviewed so far. I don't want to sound ungrateful at all, because feedback is exactly what I'm looking for on this story, and I appreciate her voice a lot more than the other, generic feedback I sometimes receive ("Great--update soon"<--how is that at all helpful?). It's just harder to take than I thought it would be, especially from someone I don't know.
It kind of makes me want to take the story down. After looking at some of her things and rereading some of the things other authors have written, things my sisters have written, it's becoming clearer to me that I was never meant to be an author. I just don't have that spark of originality that others seem to possess in abundance. I'm still a writer. Nothing can stop my brain from coming up with these ridiculous things to write. I just wasn't meant to be published. Sorry, Pete, I changed my mind. I'm a girl. That happens sometimes.
Besides, the world has enough "faerie" stories on the market. More than enough. It's silly to think they'd have need of another.
