My mode of delivery is a tricky one. I don’t like it. I think I was made to be an editor and simply settled as an author. I liked the creative side too much. Though I still edit rigorously, both my own work and other people’s.
It’s difficult to write about this stuff without seeming arrogant. ‘I can do a thing in a way nobody else can’. When does confidence in one’s work fall into arrogance? I think the confident one will always be open to criticism and learning more. The arrogant one thinks he’s learnt all he needs to and that the knowledge lives within him. We all know one. I knew a few in my writing course.
Mode of delivery might be the wrong set of words. I always use the wrong words. My mind simply places them in an order it thinks is right. Sometimes the definition isn’t though. When I write something in the heat in the moment it has a tendency to be sloppy, barely hanging off the bones of what could be a devilishly good idea. I can go back the first time and tweak it and believe it is ready. However it is not. It takes weeks, months, and years for something I have written to be ready for reading. And though I can get deathly sick of this method it is a method I need to stick to. If I break it and read that same story ten weeks later I’ll cringe in horror. Why didn’t I add that scene of him with a teaspoon? It would’ve improved the whole story.
What if I write a book? Will I look back and see the flaws and despise it for all it’s worth? Will I strive to do better each and every time? I hope so. Even this entry is holey with mistakes, though my train of thought is messier than my writing.
I am an editor. I think I need an editor.