Questioning Oneself

There is a writer I have admired for quite some time, but have never read a book that they have written. Recently I had the chance to pick up their first book and began to read. Understand that this writer is held in quite high esteem and enjoyed by all the right people: they now write for a living.

This brings me to the sad conclusion that I may very well never be a successful writer; I did not enjoy the book. There are fundamental things about it that disrupted my ability to finish it for some time. Some of the characters that I assume are believed to be well thought out are transparent and stupid to the point of groan-worthy. The writing perspective leaps from one head to another, one time to another frequently and somewhat jarringly in the same chapter; the same paragraph sometimes. In places there is far more explanation than should be necessary (some of it incorrect). There also appears to be an author-soap-box brought out via too many characters too many times.

Immersion is difficult to say the least.

So, the fear that this evokes in me is: am I wasting my time writing? I realize that this is their thing and not necessarily mine, but I worry that there is no audience for the stories or messages I wish to share. Or that perhaps I have none to share; no real substance.

Perhaps I've raised the pedestal too high? Perhaps I simply do not enjoy the genre? Or perhaps I'm looking for more reasons to procrastinate my own efforts.