HHHHEEEE’S STILLL GROWING!!!!
I’ve watched my writing grow from ink-eyed youthful innocence, to awkward adverb-heavy pubescence, to logical, reasonable, rhetorical adult. He’s grown strong and independent and I’m pretty proud of him. And yet, as he tries to go off into the world, I’ve had a hard time letting go of his hand. He thinks he’s ready enough, old enough, brave enough to face the cruel world of the internet and rejection letters. I, his creator and biggest supporter, am not so sure. Part of me thinks he’s ready, even at times knows he’s ready, while another part of me thinks he’s a naive little boy who doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.
I often have this notion that my writing is not quite “there yet” like a relentlessly questioning 8-year-old kid near the end of a cross-country road trip. But therein lies the problem: “there” (wherever it is) is nebulous, gelatinous…
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