Now, this post is not going to be some kind of bragging fest–that’s soooo not my style. This is just an observation.

As a writer, I have my share of rejections. And even though I push myself to keep writing, to just keep going, I do sometimes wonder if I’m good enough. “Am I good writer?” is the question I find myself asking lately. Competent, yes. Good? I don’t know.

In my days of styling hair, I knew I was good. I saw it in my work, in my clients’ smiling faces and the referrals that kept coming my way. I was a great hairstylist. 

But with writing, the pay-off is slow, and sometimes, not at all. I’ve spent hours on my laptop, pounding out a manuscript that has not seen the light of day. I did all the work–but where was the reward? And I’m not talking financial–I’m talking the validation you feel when you walk into a bookstore and see your baby sitting on the shelves. The warmth that builds in your chest from accomplishing your goal.

I know plenty of writers that have a manuscript or two that will never see the light of day. But as my rejection letters piled up from that unsold manuscript, I found my confidence a little shaken. A few of the letters had personal notes scribbled on the bottom:

“You’re an able writer but…”

“You’re novel is filled with emotional complexity but…”

“Great story line but…”

You get the idea. I knew I could write, but was I good enough to make it? As I put that novel aside and wrote, Unbeweavable, in the back of my mind I wondered if this book would see the light of day. Would people be able to read something that I spent so much time working on?

You know the answer to that one. And as I read over my words, I can’t help but think that I’m a good writer. Reading over the notes that my editor scribbled in makes me smile. Because for the first time in a long time, somebody else besides my family agrees.