Saturday, 14 March 2026

Self doubt - a baleful animal...

        The COMMENTS on/off thing. If you noticed.

        It went like this.

        I finished the latest short story and put it up in The Workshop. Then I did that Mitzi & Duds tribute over in Pandora's Box. Which had me re-reading "Dudley's Career In Cabbages". Compared the two, which got me worried that my craftmanship was slipping, as I found the older one ("...Cabbages") brighter, zippier, looser, easy-flowing, like it had oozed out of the old fingertips in one sitting. Which it didn't, but that's how it felt.

        Then I re-read "The Ballad Of The Unspeakable Son" (tag below), and it seemed - like - heavier. As if it'd been harder work. A bit pedestrian even? I know the subjects are miles apart, one meant to be light and funny, the other a bit sad and poignant.

        Whatever. I came away a touch concerned. Like The Ghost was slipping away from me. Getting tired. And no-one to bounce off.

        It was a bad day.

        So, I decided to turn on the COMMENTS, as if I thought someone "out there" might have an answer. But I slept on it for a couple of days and nights, decided all that was just a touch pathetic, then asked myself - "Would I change how I write and what I write because of someone's comments anyway?"

        Answer of course (being a single-minded type) was - "No." I have always written what I want, did my best, edited it to death, been my own muse, judge, and jury. And too old to change. So I turned it off.

        What else can I say?

        Nup, that's it. Small lesson learnt. Back to the pen, the paper, the keyboard.

            Cheers....

                    Trev

THE BALLAD OF THE UNSPEAKABLE SON

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