I play guitar. “Play” is the relative term here. Segovia plays. Comparatively speaking I don’t.
Steve Morse is my guitar idol and he really plays. He studied with Segovia at one time. Played with the likes of McLaughlin and Howe. Over time Morse has pretty much established himself as one of the reigning geniuses with the instrument.
My idol worship has gone too far in that I came to the realization that I’ll never do anything remotely close — neither musically nor technically — to what Morse does. My reaction is to play less. Why bother? Turning something I enjoyed doing into something I could never do well enough wasn’t the most brilliant move I ever made but that’s another story.
Transferring this idolatry run amok to the literary field, has anyone out there had a similar experience with writing? Anybody read something so utterly perfectly fantastic that it just makes you feel like hanging up the pen? And if so — what was that wonderfully demolishing piece of literature?