I am by nature a person who likes things that can be measured. While I did horribly in any sort of mathematics beyond simple arithmetic, I adore doing science with its focus on numbers, measurement, and prediction.

When I plan trips I like to know how far I am going to go, estimate my average speed, know when and where I am likely to rest, and have a decent shot at knowing my arrival time. When I am writing a project I like tracking how many words I have written and computing a rough idea of idea of my percentage completed. All in all I am a quantitative person.

However my progression as a writer cannot be measured in such a fashion. If I am getting better as a writer is not something that can be put into a spreadsheet and measured and tracked. The pH of a story cannot be tested and altered with a predictable amount of adverbs.

This is inherently frustrating to me. People tell me I am getting better and that the prose is more readable now than in the past. I often get good notes and comments from my fellow writers in the Mysterious Galaxy Writers Group, and I sometime even read my own stuff and actually think it has gained an ineffable sort of quality.

Then on other days I hate what I compose and feel inclined to chuck it all and never attempt writing creatively again. This utter lack of objective measurement is in all likelihood the most irritating thing about my writer’s journey. It’s like I am a Frankenstein’s monster assembled from two utterly disagreeable persons who are doomed to quarrel endlessly.

There’s nothing to be done of course, it is the nature of the beast, but on some days I feel it more strongly than others.