There is a specific type of cruelty that takes place at a desk. When a writer sits down, opens a document, types a sentence, reads it back, and hears someone say, “That’s not good enough.” The voice is sharp, immediate, and frequently more articulate than what the writer just wrote. Most people stop at this point. It’s not always the case that those who continue typing are more skilled. They’ve just discovered something about that voice that no one else has yet to discover.
Writing self-doubt is neither a rare occurrence nor an indication of inadequacy. It travels to everyone who has ever made a sincere effort to put ideas on paper, including those whose books sell millions of copies and whose names can be found on the front tables of airport bookstores. Writing mentor Roz Andrews, who has worked with authors at different stages of their careers, is straightforward about this: it affects even best-selling authors and those who earn over six figures. It’s worth pausing to consider that. The doubt remains despite the credential. The relationship to it is what shifts.
Perfectionism is the most prevalent trap, and it stops more writers than any lack of skill or inspiration. From the outside, it seems almost noble—of course you want to write well, of course you hold yourself to a standard. However, practicing perfectionism doesn’t result in better writing. Because it requires that the first draft be the final draft, that thinking and execution occur simultaneously, and that the messy, uncertain, and truly necessary process of getting a story out of your head and onto a page be somehow skipped, it results in less writing or no writing at all.
The cycle is accurately described by Heather Campbell, who has written extensively about the psychology of creative block: the more a writer worries about perfection, the more dissatisfied they become with their work, and the more certain they become that they are the issue rather than the process.
When it works, the solution is nearly aggressively straightforward. Compose the draft. Avoid reading it again. While it’s happening, don’t pass judgment. Recognize that revision is where the real work starts and approach the first pass as something more akin to thinking aloud than actual writing. Although writers have been expressing this idea in one form or another for generations, it is still necessary to do so because perfectionism is constantly finding new ways to assert itself. The blank page has a special ability to persuade someone that they should do it right now.
Some authors go so far as to completely externalize the voice of doubt. Giving the inner critic a name—something a little ridiculous, something that makes the voice harder to take seriously—seems like a ridiculous strategy until you try it and realize that it actually makes a difference. Instead of being a judgment, the voice takes on the persona of a character. Instead of making judgments you are forced to accept, it becomes something you are conscious of and can see. This might be effective because giving anything a name creates a certain amount of distance from it. Although the doubt still exists, it can no longer be mistaken for your own thoughts.
Daily habit is more important than most writers would like to acknowledge, in part because it goes against the more idealistic notion of writing as something that happens when circumstances are favorable. If you don’t mind making very slow progress, it makes sense to wait for inspiration. Regular writers typically arrive at the same time, sit in the same spot, and write whenever they feel like it. The micro-goals of 200 words, 500 words, and 20 minutes with the document open seem insufficient until you see how they add up over several weeks. It takes about a year and a half to write a novel at a rate of 200 words per day. The majority of people wait to feel ready to write something worthwhile, so they never write 200 words on a given Tuesday.
What to do on the days when doubt is most prevalent is another issue. Andrews suggests keeping a tangible folder with printed articles, heartfelt notes from readers, or a paragraph you’ve written that worked—something tangible to refer to when the voice is especially compelling. It’s a purposefully unremarkable solution to an existential dilemma. However, self-doubt tends to have selective memory, forgetting every accomplishment and bringing up every setback when asked. Simply put, a proof file is a means of presenting counter-evidence that the doubt cannot alter.
It’s difficult to ignore how much of this boils down to one unpleasant reality: writing must occur before it can be good. Without going through an uncertain, flawed, and occasionally embarrassing draft, there is no way to a polished, finished piece. The doubt was not silenced by the writers who continue to write. They are the ones who didn’t wait for silence before beginning.
