The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: a small-time niche writer's journey towards self-acceptance

I am not a writer. Let that be the first thing that I say. If you met me and asked what I like to do in my spare time, my response would be: "I like to read and watch TV."

The first time that I met one of Stellabelle's dear friends, he said, "So, you're a writer." My immediate reply was, "Oh, no. Not me." But Stellabelle (who is a writer, published and teaching Creative Writing at NYU) had said that I was. I'd given her fanfic the summer we were all in London and she told me to stop wasting my time with things that I can't publish. Needless to say, I was over the moon. Still, I was and remain, tentative in regards to my own ability to put create beautiful, resonant prose. Even coming from Stellabelle, someone I adore and admire, I cannot seem to allow myself to be called a writer.

This is what must be understood when we get into the debate over concrit, feedback, LJ and BNF's.

So. Moving on.

I get good feedback. Even better, I get feedback from writer's that I admire. So, why is it that I clamor for more, always more? Quantity doesn't necessarily trump quality, but in LJ-land where my eyes are inevitably drawn to that little number beside the word comments, it's traumatizing, at least for me, when fic remains in the single digits. It's why I so often wait to respond. I want to see if anyone else has anything to say and I don't want my responses to drive up the count. Sad, but true.

Having been recently reassured by writer's, again, that I admire (glossing and chrisleeoctaves I am looking at you), why do I find it so difficult to get past the desire for mass adoration. I am a niche writer. I know that. I accept that. The responses I get are always flattering, kind, and very often detailed. And again, I get feedback from people that I admire, as either writers or as people with good taste and sense, and not just because they are complimenting my fic: thawrecka, dafnap, diachrony, kormantic, tkp, violetsmiles, moireach, moonwhip (once my beta and now a doctoral candidate) and plenty others that I know I'm missing.

So, what is it about my confidence in my writing ability that prevents me from saying "this is good"? Why is it that I need others to tell me it is so?

Partially, I know, it's because to say that I am a writer just sounds, to my ears, pretentious. How on Earth could *I*, little ole me, be a writer?

I am attempting to move beyond that. It's an ongoing process. And if I am petulant, bitter or depressed on occasion because the masses don't adore me, please bear with me. I promise to curb most of the vitriol. Even in my confused, heated brain I recognize that it is unwarranted because I have the quality feedback. Quantity really isn't everything.