There are storytellers and writers. You can tell any story you like; you cannot write whatever you like: you write only yourself.
~ Jules Renard, Journal
That’s the trouble. Editing and revising the current draft of the novel, I find that I’ve succeeded remarkably in putting myself onto paper. The problem is the self in question: sentimental, affected, distracted by baubles and trivialities that can interest no one else. The story is itself, but the telling is too much me. Is self-improvement possible? Can I write myself into shape?