I am NOT an editor

So I’m start reading this piece from a fellow writer, and I’m like DAMN, this is GOOD. It’s a kind of story I would never pick up and read myself, but it was just SO GOOD. And I’m looking through someone else’s crit, because I’ve just gotten on the list and I can predict the editing - I mean, for me, editing is cake.

And then that little demon that sits on the shoulder of every writer says, “That’s because you’re an editor, NOT a writer. You should make a living from editing and give up this writing thing. You SUCK…but you’re a great editor!”

I had to breathe my way through it. What I am is rusty. What I’ve done is sat in 2 chairs, and I still am, still am trying to. But perhaps I’m wrong, perhaps a change is coming. When I took that poetry workshop before Amelia was born, I was GOOD. And it was the first workshop I took. What I am is out of practice. My stories are good ideas, my writing is out of shape. I need a good workshop, I just don’t live in an area where they are.

These are not excuses. These are part of a master plan, a plan I am TOTALLY unsure of.

Off to edit (my OWN work, that is).