Practicing your art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. ~Kurt Vonnegut
Sometimes, I become frustrated because I am not a great writer. My antigodlin view is warped toward great, meaning, money is thrown at my person, lines of people waiting for my next offering, millions of likes on every blog post. This frustration begs the questions, how is greatness defined? And, closer to home, what is the purpose of my writing?
An audience would be nice but, these days, I even have trouble convincing my wife to spend a few minutes perusing my latest blogs. Yet, I write almost daily, have hundreds of pieces scratched into paper, in flight, or soaring ideas that have not made the switch from wetware to paperware to electronica.
And I add to the number daily. I can say, looking back on earlier musings, my craft is improving. It is part skill, part a soul with more to extract, a deeper inkwell to pull ideas for my enjoyment. Like pumping iron to the physical muscles, my soul muscles grow with each piece.
I am becoming more human and that means my writing is Great! for me, personally, even if another soul never drinks another word.