THE RIDGE
Be careful of who you take into the woods.
I am a writer.
Until tonight, I had forgotten that. Not really forgotten, just pushed the fact to the back burner. I had lost faith in my abilities and myself. I didn't really understand why, until tonight. Then it hit me with crystal clarity. I had a shoulder critic, which I couldn't deal with.
Every writer has a critic that sits upon their shoulder telling them all sorts of things.
"Is that the best you can do?"
"Do you really think anyone wants to read this crap?"
"Why don't you quit hiding behind this computer and get a real job? You're for sure not accomplishing anything here."
"If you really think your stories are good, you are deluding yourself."
That type of thing. After a while you learn to ignore that little bastard, at least until you finish your first draft.
Now I must be really dense, because until tonight I didn't realize that I had two of those little goblins to contend with. It wasn't just my own self-doubt sitting on my shoulder; I had a bigger critic looking over it. He was saying the same damn things. He had been saying it all along, but I just didn't hear him. Until late this afternoon. I had fired up the word-processor and had just typed a title, when he walked in.
"The Ridge." Says he. "What's it about?"
"Don't know yet." I answer. "Just thought it sounded good."
In case you're wondering, the Ridge is where he gets his beer and I get my wine. We live in a dry county and a trip to the ridge is an event.
"I could write that story." He says.
"Nope, it's mine." I reply. "Besides, I thought of it first."
"Well, I'll use your pen name, how's that?" He asks.
I answer, getting a bit indignant, "That's ok, I'll write it myself."
"I can write it better." He says.
"I'm not so sure of that." I reply. My ego was really getting bruised here.
Then his eyebrows went up. He didn't have to say a word. All of a sudden I knew why my writing had been terrible for the last year. Why I had lost my enthusiasm and drive. It was because of him. Why, oh why, hadn't I seen it before?
Maybe it was because to the outside world, he bragged on me. His wife, the writer. Maybe because when he knew I was down, he would say something like, "Honey, why don't you go work on a story and get your mind off things?"
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
