this is just a little self-indulgent/self-effacing moment of wallowing...
I'm in awe of Neil Gaiman. I can never touch Robin McKinley. DeLint... Pattou... Yolen... you all leave me in the dust. Shannon Hale puts me to shame.
Am I remotely as good as some - any - published authors? Those whom I hold in some esteem? This is just plain ouchy.
I do not argue well. I am not good at debate. I do have strong opinions, but all too often emotion gets in the way. I do not organize my thoughts well, and I forget to include certain points.
That being said, I have started a response to a certain topic on a certain message board at least half a dozen times. I read the other responses (particularly from one person - and I really can't say why said person's responses irk me so but they really do!) and get all worked up. I make as if to reply. I start to type...
Then it all crumbles. My train of thought doesn't just derail, it leaps from the tracks, flies through the air and lands in a crumpled, smouldering heap on the rocks of indecision. I don't want to deal with the backlash, and I know there will be backlash to anything that I post. Why don't I have Don's eloquence, his confidence, his amazing storehouse of knowledge? Why do I take things (as in negative responses) so personally?
I think I used to be a lot braver, and I know I used to be a whole lot smarter.