A while back, I did something out of character for me. I wrote a letter (first part of it being out character) to someone I admire (second part). In this case, it was a writer whose work has affected me in a meaningful way. I wanted to thank him for inspiring me to write more and better, so I did. I also found myself, through the course of the letter, asking a question I couldn't avoid asking. The question was the title here - "how do I know if I'm any good?"
I knew he wouldn't have an answer because how could you possibly have an answer to that, but I asked anyway because part of me thought that a guy who writes superheroes everyday might have some secret knowledge that the rest of us don't. He writes men who can fly and men without fear.
More than his secrets, I wanted to know theirs.
He responded to the letter, but like I expected, couldn't answer the question. And I can't answer the question. Friends compliment me sometimes. That feels good. But maybe that says more about me as a person or them as friends than it does about my writing.
I can't be sure.
What I can be is persistent. And committed.
And maybe if I do lack some necessary talent, I can make up for it by a pure inability to quit.
For now, I'm still trying to learn to fly. I'm still trying to be a man without fear.