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I was thinking of posting another story on Woo Woo Teacup.  It’s an older story (from 2004), one of the first fiction pieces I wrote.  I read through it last night to see if it needed editing.  Editing!  Ha!  The darn thing is so crappy that I suffered seizures of mortification.  To think, I even attempted to submit it for publication.  Now I know why it was rejected.  What I can’t figure out is why, when I had people read it and I read it to my writers group, everyone seemed to have a positive reaction to it.  Were they being polite, trying to let me live with delusions of being a good writer, or was there something worthwhile in the story that they connected with?

My reaction to it has me gripped with fear that whatever I write today will assuredly turn to crap four years from now.  Do writers such as Margaret Atwood, Christopher Moore, Michael Chabon, Jeffrey Eugenides or Neil Gaiman ever have these fears now that they have experienced publishing success?

I don’t think my story is completely unsalvageable,  but it needs a serious overhaul before I bring it out into the light of day.  Meanwhile, I have to work on staring down my mortification.

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