scribblechic

I love writing; the quiet, uninterrupted act of reflection that accompanies each self-indulgent moment with my thoughts centers me. Compliments and kind words for my efforts on paper are met with shame. With each sharing I am mindful of my own inadequacy. Despite my love of writing, I am an incompetent editor.

I use self-depreciating humor to deflect my insecurities, but the truth settles between the lines of my thoughts. I let go humbly knowing the flaws invite criticism, even here where my audience is limited to those I trust with my feelings and strangers.

I often wonder if others share this experience. If the errors belie the effort or if they make the sharing more human for the imperfections.  This is not a confession so much as a curiosity; a verbalization of insecurities otherwise silent companions to my words.

Tagged: Editing, Writing