So I write a post the other day, “The Writer II”, and I get the usual reaction I get when I post something. A few retweets, a few favorites, maybe a text or two telling me how good it is and I see the views pile up. There’s a weird feeling that comes with posting a blog post and the best way I can describe it is uncertainty. All of this comes directly from me so its like I never know how far off or on point I am until someone reaches out and confirms for me that I’m not crazy (or that I am).
Back to the post. So I put it up and then go to the gym, avoiding all feedback on the post until my workout is over (this has become one of my favorite things to do when I write something). See, I knew “The Writer II” was nowhere near my best work but I thought it was at least good enough to post. I get back from my workout to a few positive reactions to the post and I really appreciated them. Just as I start up my car I get a twitter mention from my best friend, Renato. Now, Renato, like me is a writer and because of this, and him being my best friend, his opinion is pretty valuable to me. He pretty much tells me that the post was trash. Doesn’t really bother me much because I knew it wasn’t my best work but it did make me read the post back and think “Damn, is this really that bad?”
The very next day Renato sends me a post he had just finished working on. And that shit was fucking incredible. Just one day removed from telling me my latest shit was trash, this guy has the gaul to send me this fire and fuck my whole shit up. It felt like we were playing a friendly game of one on one and then he hit me with a crossover, stepped back, and drained a shot. I was livid.
Quick Story
I used to go on cool dates with this girl Jenna, who is probably, now, the second best writer I know. I used to write my earlier blogs and think to myself at the end of writing one “Is this to the level of something she could write?” or “What would she think of this?” I want my posts to be as clear as possible and at the end of writing I think to how one of the great writers I know would feel about it. This one just happened to be the girl I was going on dates with at the time. Now I never actually went and asked her because we soon stopped talking and even though I still thought those things, pride wouldn’t let me actually ask her what she thought. I convinced myself I didn’t care and soon after, I didn’t care much.
End of Story
Now I tell that story to then relate it to now where I am writing so much (about nine posts and a special project on my flash drive that I check in and out of writing whenever I feel like it) and I write something and now that I know Renato is actually the best writer I know (no disrespect to Jenna. She’s still doing her thing), I think “Man, is this on a Renato level?” Now just so we don’t get this twisted, I always knew Renato was a good writer, even better than me, but I recently realized its not as close as I thought.
I spoke before of that feeling I get when I read something so good, a part of me wishes I thought of it first. It happens all the time. Not in a malicious way, but out admiration for what I read. I don’t even get that feeling reading Renato’s stuff. This guy, in my opinion at least, is on another planet.
Here’s the post I was referring to:
http://ilelefant.tumblr.com/post/126560298217/to-no-one-in-particular