Since I've moved out here and started working for the Banner-Press nearly seven months ago, I've realized that, for one, my writing has improved tenfold. But two, there's been a little voice in my head – maybe more of a gut instinct – that I've developed.
It tells me when I'm not doing the job I should be, letting me know that I should make that extra phone call or ask that extra question. At first – and I think it's always been there, but now it's really surfacing – I ignored it. But every time I sit down to write after pushing it aside, I know I'm not doing my best work. And sure enough, as I'm writing, that extra question I didn't ask, that five-minute phone call I didn't make, always comes up.
As a writer, you can't lie to yourself. You can write around the sentence of that unasked question, or rework your story to cut it out completely, and while the readers won't know the difference, deep down in your heart of hearts, you know. And for me, having that feeling hit my gut or that voice saying "You dun fucked up," is painful. Every time going back and reading that story – especially if I think it's some of my better work – the missed question, the extra phone call I didn't make, the extra piece of information I failed to look up, sticks out like a sore thumb, haunting me to no end.
The opposite is true, too. The times I've listened to that voice – "Ask that extra question, dumbass" – I have a better feeling going back and writing that story. That punch in the gut is replaced with knowing I'm ready to sit down and tackle this bitch head on, that nothing will stop me.
One day, I want my name to be up there with the Chris Joneses, the Gary Smiths and the Tom Junods. And the cold-hard truth is, that voice – that feeling – is the saving grace that will help get me there.
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