So I’ve been writing lately, and not just here. There’s other stuff… elsewhere… just go with it okay? Anyway, I’ve been blessed with several friends who are willing to read what I write and even more blessed because they seem to be willing to say when something’s not working. Overall though I’ve gotten positive feedback and general encouragement. It makes me happy.

In one of those meandering trains of thought that seems to have no start but sometimes has an abrupt and revealing ending, it occurred to me that I don’t like to read what I’ve written. Keep in mind I like to read. I like to read the same genres that I write in. So the type of material isn’t the problem. It also isn’t that I necessarily dislike my own writing style. Certainly I don’t re-read my authorial creations for the pleasure of it, even though I have been known to revisit books by others from time to time. But for some reason my own fiction fails to entertain me.

And yet I enjoy creating it. When I’m in the mood, I find myself going over the next chapter, trying different ideas on, thinking about what will be more interesting for the reader, what will flow better and what will reveal things properly. Some of the guidelines of writing will pop into my head and I’ll work at applying them, seeing how it alters what I am considering writing. Then I’ll write. Usually I start getting a feel for what went right and what went wrong and I’ll spend time trying to think of how to fix it, or if it even is fixable. I’ll start rethinking what I was trying to convey, making sure that what was delivered was what was intended. If you’ve written you’ll know what I mean.

I find that creative process appealing. I have the usual doubts, wondering if people are praising me because they like me not because they like the prose. Or how long I would go on writing if I wasn’t receiving such encouragement, and so on.

For now I’m enjoying things. I want to finish what I’ve started, I like where it’s going and I hope to entertain anyone who happens to read it along the way. I doubt I’ll ever make a single penny off of it, but that’s not what it’s about. Nor is it about making something I want to read personally. I think it’s being able to exercise an ability which others seem to appreciate. And in the end I think that makes it right.