Writers are twitchy little animals. A common genetic defect I see in most is self-comparison, always measuring their writing against that of others. I'm not pointing the finger here. I do it myself and have ever since kindergarten.

The thing is, though, that it really doesn't matter. So what if Steinbeck wrote a turn of phrase that drops you to your knees? Or Chrichton throws a curveball into a plot that makes you want to cry like a little girl? Yeah, they are undeniably great writers, BUT THEY'RE NOT YOU.

Only you can tell a story in your voice because, duh, only you have your voice...unless you were abducted by aliens and it was sucked out of you with a teensy-weensy probe. Nope. Not buying that.

Now that we've got that out of the way, you have no excuse. Put on some knee pads and wrist guards, then get out there and write. Tell your story, your blog post, your book review, a freaking letter to Great Aunt Matilda, whatever, the way you want to tell it. Don't worry about editing or critiques or reviews. Those will come later, like an unwanted toenail fungus.

In the mean time, delight in the magical flow of words tapping out of your fingertips. This is the joy of writing.