It’s Brilliant (it’s awful)

I have the bad habit of rereading my own writing. Not for any useful purpose, but just because I like to.

When I read something I’ve written I have one of two reactions.

It’s brilliant!

It’s awful.

What’s interesting is that my reaction changes from one reading to the next. Everything I have ever written was both pure genius…and shite.

I discovered this duality early on, and I have come to understand that both are true and neither is true. Or the truth is unknowable.

This is sad, of course. I would prefer to think my work is brilliant all the time. (Maybe it is.) But it is also liberating. If I can’t know whether my work is good or bad, then I can’t worry about it. (Although I do worry about it.)  All I can do is keep writing. Which I do.

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