Choice.

I believe that every person who is interested in writing realizes, at one point or another, that there are many, many, other authors out there. And with that realization, comes doubt, at least in my case. There might be some people out there that are either supremely confident in their ability, or so naive to think that everyone else will love their words as much as they do, regardless of how good they actually are.

Doubt, though, is my bane, along with shyness. These two traits combined often prevent me from saying or writing what I want. So I studied my writing, improved it greatly (if you don't believe me, you should have seen my first attempts. Though I hope you never do, because then I'd have to kill myself from shame), and learned to see my writing from a critical point of view. And since I've joined WDC, I feel my writing has improved even more, and my confidence has recieved a boost from the many positive reviews I've been blessed with.

But still doubt persists, and grows, for the very same reason. Joining WDC made me realize just how many good writers there are out there (Your welcome), and how much I need to improve in many areas. There are writers who seem to describe things easily; writers who can create impressive and...imposing plots; writers who have a gift with making the reader empathize with the characters. How can I possibly standout?

...Which lead to another question, "Do I write for the recognition?"

The easy answer to this question is...no, I don't. However, it would be nice to become a sudden wonder, such as Christopher Paolini, or Stephanie Meyer, or any of the other authors who have made their spectacular debut. I can't help but hope, but I can't help but doubt. I felt trapped. I'd sit down to write, but nothing would come that would be "good enough." I'd write a sentence, and then immediately revise it (which as you well know, is an incredibly slow way to write something as long as a novel).

So, I searched for a way out. I knew that there was nothing else I'd rather do than write. But what good would I be if no one read what I wrote. Surprisingly--or un-surprisingly, depending on your point of view--it took me months to realize that my answer was there. I said it three sentences ago. There was nothing else I'd rather do...and that was all that really mattered.

My descriptions and scenery might seem vague in comparison to other stories...
My characters might need a bit of work...
I don't even know how my story ends! So the plot is fairly loose...
...But I love to write.

Call me addicted, call me crazy, and I'll thank you, because every writer is probably a little crazy, and more than a little addicted. But there is one thing I no longer doubt...

I am a writer, because I choose to be. Everything I see, everything I do, is in danger of being integrated into my books. There is no greater pleasure for me right now than to show my work to another, and have them like it, too.

Unless, of course, it is confusing people who hold impwissant vocabularies, though I didn't really choose to have that in my character. That came from my family. More specifically, it comes from my brother, and the joy of confusion isn't limited to vocabulary.

Just goes to show...we are what life made us to be, but we can look at life from many different angles, and choose where we can go in the future. The choice is ours, ultimately.