The little voice at the back of my head
The little voice is my friend.
It urges me to keep on
writing, to not give up. It reassures me that one day, my manuscript will meet
my expectations. One day, the voice tells me, in the not-too-distant future, I will
be saying ‘This is the best I can do on my own’, and I will be ready to send it
to a professional editor.
The little voice is my foe.
It tells me that my writing is no good. That nobody will be
interested in reading a story about an ordinary teacher in ordinary New
Zealand. That I can’t possibly claim to be a writer because I haven’t done any
creative writing courses. That all the months (actually, the year) spent on
this novel are wasted because I will never finish it to a published book.
I push that little voice away until the friendly one comes
back. The novel is not finished, it says. Once it is edited and polished, I
will be proud to claim it as my own.
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