Ever since I knew I wanted to be a writer, I’ve dreamed about how famous I would one day be. How people would say, “She’s one of the best writers I’ve ever read!” I even made a mock-up magazine cover once with my photo on it and the caption: “Everything she writes turns to gold.” Now that I’m older and feel like time is running out, I’ve come to see that I was delusional. Even so, I miss the time when I actually believed that my delusions were bona fide dreams.
I thought I could do any kind of writing. I can’t. I thought I could repeat my successes (I’ve had some). I haven’t. I thought that someday I’d be famous. I’m not.
I realize that my life isn’t over yet, but honestly, how much longer can I hold onto my dreams? And where do dreams stop and delusions begin? I could lower my expectations, but that feels like giving up. I don’t want to accept mediocrity. I want to be great. But the more I read of other writers’ work, the more discouraged I become. I can’t write that well, I think. I used to think: I can do better than that. When did I lose my confidence, and why? Is it just that I’ve grown up?