Face it, most of us at least fancy ourselves as writers or else we probably wouldn't be blogging and commenting. The mere fact that I can't write like Heinlein or Twain doesn't discourage me from throwing out my scribblings for public perusal.
I've always enjoyed the act of writing. Putting my words to paper or scattered bytes in a computer is both cathartic and my single creative outlet. There's more of the knuckle dragger to me than the Bard but I do so enjoy the process. Even unread, the words we write and the things we write about resonate with someone, even if only ourselves.
Kanani, a terrific writer I admire and read daily, gives good advice to budding wordsmiths here. She talks about the potentially crippling effects of a bad English teacher. Frankly, I slept through high school English classes but I'm sure if I had been awake and aware I would have met the very teachers she talks about. It's worth a read if just for the reminder that talent, however great or minuscule, needs to be nurtured if it stands a chance of flowering.