After a two month break from blogging, reading my old posts again has made me realise how mediocre my writing is.

There is a clumsiness and childishness in my prose that is absent in “proper” writers. Some posts are too long, boring and redundant. Others are too short, ambiguous and unclear. Of the 300+ posts written before this one, I can say there’s only a handful that I’m truly satisfied with. For the rest, the temptation is to pick up a giant red pen and substantially edit.

One of the great benefits of a break is perspective. From reading other authors, I’ve come to realise that a great idea is insufficient by itself – to be powerful, it requires clear prose, correct grammar and a sensible structure.

When you read the likes of Neil Gaiman, Stephen King and Alain de Botton you find a sense of astonishment, for their words are like magic; each sentence has a distinct, marching rhythm, and each adjective is perfect in its place. The prose isn’t tiring but flows like butter, and you find yourself being drawn into their universe without even really noticing it.

In light of this, part of me wants to delete everything I’ve written before and retire.

But similar to how one vows change when when confronted with disgusting imperfections, there is hope. By seeing the gap between my writing and strong prose, there appears a destination to run towards. And embarking on this destination, like any adventure, is exciting. The chasm to better is simultaneously daunting and comforting.

It’s like mercilessly being destroyed by a computer at chess; it feels terrible, hopeless even, but you can’t help but feel inspired at how great one can become at the game.

And one day, with enough persistence, one may even approach greatness themselves.