A Question of Defense

I like to write simple, entertaining stories. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with that. That shouldn’t embarrass me. I shouldn’t have to be trying to write the Next Great American Novel to feel worthy of literary respect. So therefore, why am I suddenly suffering from pangs of self-doubt?

I just came back from presenting at the Undergraduate Research Expo. I don’t know what made me think that it would be a good idea to read my work aloud there. I felt pathetic. I felt like a kid who wrote a pretty little story because she wasn’t capable of doing a Big Grownup Research Project. I could have done research for my thesis! I could have graduated as a damn scientist from this school, if I wanted! I chose to be a writer. I like reading my work aloud. Why do I always walk away from reading my work feeling embarrassed, and never proud?

I’m about to enter the Undergraduate Creative Writing Contest tomorrow, and the work I think is my best, of which I am secretly most proud, I cannot submit. I know those pieces will not win. These judges, these professional academics, they don’t want to read an entertaining story. They want to read something revolutionary. They want to read something mind-boggling. They want to read a work of art.

Meghan—a girl I asked to help me read and revise my thesis—wasn’t initially sure she could read all 78 pages between Monday, the day I gave her the manuscript, and Wednesday, the time when I wanted to meet with her. Initially, she asked if we could meet on Thursday. However, Tuesday morning, she e-mailed me, writing, “I finished the thesis last night; I couldn't put it down!” That reaction—that is what I want. That is why I write, why I have worked so hard to create this thesis at all. So why, suddenly, is that not enough?