Writing is hard sometimes. Some days the words flow; some days we get in our own way.
I wrote the following piece years ago, after working with an author who was having a really hard time with self-doubt and Imposter Syndrome and overwhelm.
You write, though you haven’t the time.
You write, though you haven’t the energy.
You write, though you haven’t the confidence.
You write, though you haven’t a chance (you fear).
You write, though who are you to write?
You write, though you’re no Hemingway.
You write, though you may not finish.
You write, though you may be judged.
You write, though the words fight back.
You write, though the muse is elusive.
You write, though you itch to censor.
You write, though your last book bombed.
You write, though it drains you.
You write, though it haunts you.
You write, though it maddens you.
You write, though you bleed.
You write
Because it’s all you can do
With a head that thinks prose
And a heart that beats poetry;
You write, because no matter the struggle
You are a writer.
Be kind to yourself, fellow writer, and kind to other writers too. We’re all sitting at typewriters and bleeding.* And remember this, from WB Yeats:**
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
* ‘It is easy to write. Just sit in front of your typewriter and bleed.’ – often attributed to Ernest Hemingway.
** ‘He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’, The Wind Among the Reeds (1899).
