I thought I broke up with my editor/mentor a month ago. He didn’t like something I wrote and gave me such a hard time, Chip said I became catatonic. Catatonic? Maybe I was, a little bit.
D. is pretty critical of my writing skills. He’s rather brutal in his assessment of my writing. No one’s ever told me before it stinks and it’s boring. But maybe he is telling me the truth. I know I’m not yet hitting the mark with my storytelling ability. I can get better and the only way to get better is to write. And to publish. Speaking of publishing, my short story, MY PHANTOM OVARIES was nominated for the 2019 Pushcart Prize. That’s a bit of a big deal for those of you who know about writing.
D, says I”ve let this nomination go to my head. I think I’m a writer now because of it. He said HE’S the one who edited the story fifteen times, until he told me it was ready to be released. Well I wrote it. So aren’t I a writer?
My last complaint. (I’m venting.) I’m going to tell D. I can take the criticism but I don’t like it that he doesn’t recognize the time and effort I put into writing. He thinks I don’t ? He has no idea how many times I wrote and the rewrote the words to those sentences – the revision I did. I thought what I sent him was pretty good.
Nope. Another failure.