Doubt

Sometimes, I hate everything I write. Sometimes, I will stare at my computer screen and choke.

I’ll look at my words and I will hate them.

And I will feel that hate burning and bubbling at the bottom of my throat.

I am a writer. I know this because I write. I know this because I’ve written. I know this because I plan to keep writing.

Still, sometimes, I will read a blog post or a headline or a story or a text message or a tweet and I will think:

This is bad.

I’ll look at my stupid words and I’ll tell myself that it’s not enough just to write.

I’ll tell myself that I have to be a good writer. I’ll tell myself that I am not a good writer. I’ll wonder if I’ll ever be a good writer.

I read this article on What Nobody Tells Young Creatives. For a moment, it made me feel better. For a moment, I convinced myself that recognizing my own bad writing was the first step in becoming a good writer.

Doubt has a way of dodging reason.

It can root deep in your thoughts despite Agency Post articles and despite improvement and despite advice and despite mentors and despite peers and despite support and despite success.

Maybe doubt lives here, in this creative world, and is a neighbour I’ll learn to deal with.

Maybe I’ll find motivation in doubt.

Or, maybe it will consume me and my fingers will paralyze, for the last time, just above the keyboard.

For now, I’ll keep writing.

I’m new, right? I’m young. I’m just starting out. That’s reason enough, right? That means I can stumble, right? That means I can write something bad and learn from it and not have it drag me down like I’m carrying every black and white page of terrible writing I’ve ever squeezed out of my hands, right?

The Pint opened a new Winnipeg location. It’s new. It has some wrinkles to iron, but I hope people will forgive it. I hope people will give it a chance to learn and improve.

After all, it’s only there to serve people.

Here’s what I had at The Pint:

Rocky Mountain Club: Grilled chicken, bacon, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, lettuce and maple mayo on fresh pretzel bread. 13.00

Impression: Classic clubhouse. The pretzel bread was soft and dense, a nice change from slices of toast. The sandwich, which includes a side, was enough to feed two people.

What made it? Maple mayo. One of my dinner buddies said she was expecting “more of a funky mayo.” I liked the subtlety of the maple. It wasn’t strong, but it gave the sandwich an earthy, rustic personality.

Special mention: Fries. Holy bajeezus those are some tasty fries.