Saturday, October 2, 2010

The Hubris of a Writer

When I visit a book store, I see hundreds, thousands of books filled with millions, perhaps billions of words, and  I feel like I can write something unique, something notable, something people will remember.
Such hubris.
But, I can't stop. Compelled by passion, deluded with hope, no matter what I do. I must put pen to paper, grope for home on the keyboard and make more words: essays, stories, and (if I work really hard) poetry.
Here's something for the ages, I think, but likely, it's a momentary burst of creativity, a minuscule, microscopic speck of insight, flashing for a millisecond, then gone.


  1. But then again, it might be something for the ages. Our inner critics speak louder than hubris more often than not.

  2. Thanks, Camlin. You got that right.