I gave my first and only poetry reading when I was seven years old at a ward talent show. I wore my yellow bathrobe and a pair of black glasses I made out of a pipe cleaner, so that I would look distinguished. And I recited my second-grade poetry, dancing around for emphasis at appropriate places. I was just young enough to not be embarrassed by myself, to rejoice completely in all these words I had strung together.
I’ve lost some of that exuberance. Now, like Moroni, when I write I “behold my weakness.” (Ether 12:25) There’s that great moment after writing a draft, when you just read the poem or essay over and over and think, this is amazing. But afterwards, I come off the cloud and start beholding the weakness of the writing. This is not a bad thing; it’s the first step to making weak writing strong.