Sometimes I wonder why I’m still writing at all.

For seven years I’ve been writing fiction. For seven years I’ve been reading magazines and books on the craft, engaging with other writers on critique groups, and coming up with new ways to stay focused. I’ve been everywhere in the emotional spectrum between jumping with euphoria and slamming my fists on the keyboard. I tried my best for so long, and yet I haven’t written anything worth buying.

Sometimes people tell me I should make a move, or move on entirely and, I dunno, start picking mushrooms or something. Other times it’s just my head who tells me that I’m not enough proficient in the English language or not creative enough or just not enough, period.

So why in the world do I keep writing if it’s such a struggle?

For starters, I know I’m not alone. Anyone trying to master an art knows what the impostor syndrome is, and out there are hundreds of stories of professional writers who struggled or still keep struggling with it. Therefore, like we say in Italy, a common evil is half a joy.

The second reason I figured out by myself. Fiction writing, as any other skill, is actually a combination of many different sub-skills, some of which are actually applicable in real life. During these years I learned how to write in proper English, for example. I learned how to research, how to be curious, committed and patient. I learned to understand how my mind works, how to be a better judge of character, how to notice details. Also, I can now communicate my feelings clearly, to myself and to others.

What I’m trying to say is, committing ourselves to a skill can really help us grow up. Either by taking a career or nurturing our love for a specific hobby, people are able to experience how their highs and lows reflect on their passion.

When I started writing I was a disorganized twenty-one-year-old volcano of ideas who romanticized the idea of being a writer; but then writing made me realize there was so much else I needed to improve upon. And even if I relinquished my dreams of being a writer someday, I’ll know I have earned something much more valuable anyway.