I needed to believe in myself that what I was creating was worth it. It had to be viable. My boss wouldn’t have any of it if I didn’t put it together in his precise fucking format. Dickhead. This was my idea. I had to hold my fucking own and prove it. Not to the dickhead, but to myself. I needed to. I so needed it – to have faith in my ability to fucking write. Even if whatever I hashed out was utter shit, I just needed to keep writing. This was who I was – who I am. I’m a writer. I create things. I love – cherish being able to grow with my writing. And to be a viable creator of things.
Prompted by link here.