I read a lot of forgettable books. Books that have generic titles and generic covers and generic stories. A little bit boring, with writing that's not all that refined. Books that most would probably pick up in a library or book store, but not bring home. Not give a second thought.
But I'm a writer, right? And a nerd. And an overthinker. So, I always give it a second thought. And a third thought. I don't put the books down, even when I don't like them. Because I'm thinking What can this teach me about my own writing?
Because I don't want to write forgettable books. I want to write the kind of books that 18-year-old high school seniors sob about in public school libraries. That 19-year-old college drop outs think about for months after finishing. That 20-year-old bank tellers read under the stars. That the world thinks about.
But I have a lot of self-doubt. And I read a lot of forgettable books. It's hard to write anything when I'm so worried about writing something awful. Or forgettable.
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Would it be enough to me if my book affected someone the way the best books have changed me?
I don't know. I want acclaim. Not money, not fame: praise. From people like me, from people I admire. I don't want to be someone people recognize on the street. I want to win awards--little ones and big ones, huge ones--to have my name recognized but not my face.
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My biggest hindrance to my writing is my own mind. I'm the one who stops me from writing. I never stop thinking about those forgettable books. How ironic, I know. But no, it's the books, it's the whole. The idea of being forgettable. That I am forgettable.
I'm desperate to make my mark on the world, so that I will be remembered. So that in one hundred, five hundred, seven thousand, until the Earth turns to dust, there will be a trace of me. Physical. Tangible. Rememberable.
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