That friend said, "Why don't you start a writing group?"
I followed through on that plan.
Their stories are full of words I have to search for in my dictionary. Words that make me question my intellect, my worthiness.
Of my stories, they say, "You're a minimalist writer. There isn't enough on the page. We're lost. We need more. We know this is hard to hear. All we want is to help you improve."
They don't see me cry. They don't hear me question, "Will my writing ever improve? Will I ever be able to call myself an author?"
The mountain I must climb to become an author seems insurmountable. Yet month after month, I sit at that table of writers--me and my not quite there stories.
Next Sunday evening...
I first read The Pearl by John Steinbeck in junior high (middle school). Recently, I re-read this short novel. Next Sunday I'll share my experiences as a reader then and a reader now.