I always believed that I was a good writer.
This is a fairly common trait among writers and not necessarily a bad thing. No one would spend the necessary months or years to write a novel if they didn’t on some level believe themselves good at it, or at least capable of getting better.
Plotter. Pantser. Zero drafter. I don’t even know what to call myself anymore.
It’s all just labels anyway. I’ve previously written about how, in their strictest sense, there’s almost no difference between them anyway.
As long as you end up with usable words on the page, it doesn’t really matter the method you employed to get them there.
I’ve played this game before.
Even though I had a thorough outline, I pantsed my way through a significant portion of my WIP’s first draft.
Now that I am some five drafts deep into revision, I find myself pinch-hitting for Team Pantser once again.
Fourth (left) and partial sixth (right) drafts of my WIP
It’s the worst feeling in the world.
But of course that’s not the end at all. Indeed, the realization of how wretched having your work critiqued can be is only just the beginning of a new stage of your writing journey.