Confession

Whenever I don't do as well as I wanted to on something I've written that I feel is pretty darn good, I feel horrible. Horrible. This feeling, for most people, is reserved for really traumatic events, events that stick with you through the entire day, and sometimes even longer. This is the way I feel when I get a paper back with something that declares my writing to be sub-par.

Many people would say that I am overreacting, and, if I were anyone else, if this were anything else, they would stand basking in the light of their correctness. However, for me, this response is not overreacting, but a completely rational, completely natural response.

When I write, I almost without exception pour myself into my work. Nearly every word is used with a purpose, every sentence and paragraph considered. Writing is my passion, and I feel that it is deserving of all the attention that I lavish upon it. This is the reason that when I get a grade or comment on writing that makes all my work for naught, I feel horrible.

This post is not so much a compliant about a grade that, in all fairness, I shouldn't be too broken up about, but is instead an explanation of why something so small as a grade can make me feel so awful. It may not make sense to anyone else, but to me, there can be no other way of life. I have to write, and it has to matter to me.