I See A Little Light

I've been a little discouraged about my writing lately. The main questions I'm asking myself are as follows: "Am I a writer? Is this who I really am and who I want to be? Is the fire inside of me, or is this something I'm forcing myself to do? Have I lost that desire, that spark, that prompted me to start writing again in the first place?" This has been bothering me; with all of the funkiness going on in my life (and in my head), how can I claim to be a writer when I:

a. haven't really written anything for a while?
b. haven't been able to write anything for a while?
and
c. haven't been able to think of anything to write for a while?

So I did something that ended up being beneficial to my outlook and to my sanity: I started to read.

Granted, I haven't had a lot of free time to sit and read other people's work, but I always want to. I know it's important, and I enjoy it. I love to see what's going on in other authors' heads. It amazes me how an author breathes life into interesting characters and dreams up fantastic and fabulous worlds for others to get lost in. My problem lately is that every time I have a free moment, I automatically think that I need to be writing. The result is that I end up with drafts that sound contrived. They are subsequently deleted.

So, I read a few good books this holiday weekend. Each one told its own tale, taking me to another magical world like a great book should. The element that they all had in common was this: they were all good. Reading all of these excellent books by these spectacular authors both inspired and scared me. I was concerned about my writing...could my book (or books) actually rise to the level and caliber of others? Would they be worthy of even being in the same company as these brilliant authors' works? Sure, they are both still in the draft stage, but was it realistic to think that either one of my WIPs would be good enough to eventually propel me into an "author" status?

So, last night, I did something I hadn't done in months:

I read my WIP, Bloody Sunset. All 259 pages of it. I stayed up until 1am to do so. (And I am paying for it today. Man, I'm exhausted!) Of course it needs more editing and a LOT more tweaking, but I didn't do anything to it last night. My fingers stayed off of the space bar. I resisted the urge to change a few sentences here and there. I simply read it. Guess what? I enjoyed it. I tried to put myself in "reader mode" and didn't scrutinize, I just leisurely scrolled down, page by page, immersing myself in my main character and her life. It was strangely exciting and encouraging! That spark I hadn't felt in months was back...with a vengeance!

I've been questioning and doubting my writing abilities for years. Somehow, reading other authors' work made me take a good look at my own. Maybe it doesn't suck as bad as I previously thought. Perhaps I am good enough to call myself a writer, and maybe even an author someday. I don't know if you would call it an epiphany or an "a-ha moment", but it certainly qualifies as a wake-up call. Suddenly, I'm as excited about writing as I was when I first started on my WIP. I know that there will be days when I can't work on it, or when I won't want to work on it. But I have more confidence now. I'm more motivated to get my words and my characters out there to share with everyone. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks:

I'm a writer...and I have stories to tell.