There are many ways to give a writer anxiety.
People often talk about “the blank screen,” where nothing has been typed yet, and clearing the hurdle of starting feels impossible.
Then there’s the idea of perfectionism. And rejection. They go hand-in-hand. Until you separate those hands, get over the fact that your finished product won’t be perfect, and still get rejected.
Or being ghosted. Entirely. Not knowing if the person you contacted hated your work so passionately that, instead of typing a response, they set themselves ablaze in horror.
Indeed, many ways.
That’s before we get to the innocent one. The one that should make us feel good. That should make us feel heard! This is, coincidentally, why so many of us take to writing. Still, through the best of intentions, we see the fear surface.
“What do you do?”
It’s the question everyone and anyone asks to break the ice and start a conversation or simply show genuine interest in another human being. Most times — and for the sake of this article, let’s pretend all times — there is no malice behind the words.
It’s frightening how often I couldn’t get myself to say the words “I’m a writer.” It’s debilitating, really. This is because, beneath the surface where I’m trying to give a reasonable response, I’m fighting the internal battle of how to phrase exactly what I do.
“I write,” was usually the best answer I could find. It subtly defers from the “role of writer” to the act of writing. I do that. Yes. I write.
“Oh, what have you written?”
By this point, I have set myself ablaze in horror.
There’s a weird sequence of validation that goes with jobs. That sequence is unique when it comes to creatives like writers or artists.
If you’re a lawyer, you’re a lawyer. If you’re a doctor, you’re a doctor.
If you’re a writer, you aren’t really a writer, until…
Finish the sentence however you please.
Most of us who have fought these battles with ourselves understand that we seek a different validation than others. It isn’t enough to have our words read by family members or friends. We need strangers to adore our prose. We need publishing companies to pitch their services. We need to reach an endzone that is forever moving away from us.
And until we complete a self-decided goal, we aren’t there. We aren’t writers.
We just write.
This took years for me to overcome. Years. Years of thinking I had to publish a book or get an agent or grow a following.
Place yourself in a different setting. A different world. Imagine, for a moment.
You’re a character in a story written by an author. You have an occupation: writer. Why? Because the author chose this for you. As a disembodied entity, you haven’t done anything to “earn” this title, nor have you proven yourself worthy of such a career. You simply are a writer.
What happens next?
The author of your story unrolls the plot. As a character, you develop. Then, you do something that binds your role as a writer.
You write.
Somewhere in your story, the absolute minimum action that you must perform to ground this character in reality is writing.
I will not be so naïve as to think that you — presumably someone who struggles with this issue — will read my words, see a lightbulb, and start proclaiming yourself “a writer.” I don’t hold that authority over you.
No one should. That’s the point.
This has to come from the internal battle. From winning the internal battle. The best that I can do is offer some weapons.
In the hypothetical story, you didn’t need to specify how popular the character’s writing is. You didn’t need to state whether or not the writing is published. Or even liked.
Because it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter to the reader, and it doesn’t matter to the person asking the question.
There will, however, probably be a follow-up.
“What have you written?”
This is the true source of anxiety. It’s why we don’t want to start the process that ends here. We don’t want the latter question asked, so we dodge the first.
The solution is to work backward.
Have an answer to the question. Make an answer. Write it.
The way to clear this hurdle is to write something somewhere that can serve as the answer to your question. It doesn’t have to be a long piece of work. It should be good. And it can be the first of many “somethings” that are in progress.
It only matters that you have one.
If you want specifics, here are some ideas and the resulting answers you can prepare:
- Instead of writing a novel, put together a short story and publish it somewhere. -> “I wrote a short fiction story.”
- Write a game on Twine. -> “I wrote a small game.”
- Contact other blogs and ask if you can write a guest post. -> “I’ve done some freelance work for other sites.”
- If that develops into regular contributions — which is likely if your work is good and the deadlines are met. -> “I write a weekly column.”
- Of course, there is the route I am currently taking with my blog. -> “I have a blog.”
Any of these should help lift the self-imposed barrier of the writer. I should know. I’ve used most of them.
Finally, the most important realization that I would urge you to see is that not a single emphasis is placed on money. Writing for free does not take away the fact that you are a writer. Unless you are a rare specimen who received a book deal before ever typing a word, you will be like everyone else who writes for free until they are paid.
Remember, you may be early in the process, but you are still in the process.
Because you are a writer.