I took off for a few weeks this summer. After 10 years and hundreds of daily or weekly essays, I needed a “sabbatical” of sorts. It recharged me, and it made me realize that I want to recommit myself to my writing and to help others with theirs. This writing “vacation” and recommitment was inspired, in part, by a conversation I had with a young writer who asked me a simple question.
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“Am I a good writer?” It’s a loaded question, and I guess it depends on what you define as a “good.”
Recently, I had the opportunity to talk to a young creator, and she confided in me that she was stuck, feeling like she was falling behind, and not where she “should” be, specifically in her writing. (She’s in her early 20s and I’d posit that no 20-something should think they’re “behind” when there’s so much life ahead.)
Anyway, she took me through some of the angst she’s been experiencing, and with no more expertise than the many, many years I had already lived, the millions of words I’ve written, and feeling and overcoming the same fears she has, I listened and then gently mentioned all the positive things she was doing, not the least of which was that she’s talking it out, which can be a huge first step to moving forward.
If you have kids, or you’ve at least put lots of years behind you (like I have), you can relate. First, she’s comparing herself to others in her age range which can be motivating but also frustrating and unproductive. Second, she’s trying to anticipate what the “audience” wants (which I’ll submit is a fool’s errand since the audience often doesn’t know what it wants until it’s put in front of them).
Naturally, these two issues are making this young, talented, driven woman feel like she’s failing. This made me sigh, not out of disgust or disappointment, but out of empathy for her. I’ve been there, and frankly, I still find myself there.
In one respect, all writers are good writers simply because they’re pursuing the craft, which without any other outcome, should count for something.
Because just by completing the act, you’re doing more than most. But what separates a “hobbyist” from a true writer (in my mind) means asking yourself a different question: “Am I willing to share my writing?”
Back to my young creator. As she talked and I listened, some thoughts came into my head, and when she asked me how she should proceed, I simply gave her some things to think about; not answers but questions:
Do I like writing?
For whom am I writing?
What do I like to write?
What’s my voice?
Am I willing to share my work with the world?
Do I have time to write?
Writing, like anything else, takes time, repetition and a desire to keep going, to learn more, to get better. And you need to gauge your expectations. If you’re new to basketball, and you can make 50% of your free throws, you are (or you’re going to be) a good free throw shooter. However, if you’re in the NBA and making 50% of your free throws, you need to change something, practice more, or simply avoid getting fouled.
See what I’m getting at?
Everyone–from best-selling authors to bloggers, poets, speechwriters and all the rest–wrestles with this. And if they say they don’t, they’re either lying, or they have a puffed-up impression of themselves.
What I’m saying is that writing is personal, subjective and difficult. It’s a paradox of ego (you’re willing to share it with others, and therefore, telling the world it’s worthy to be shared) and humility and vulnerability (you’re often baring your soul, willing to be judged by the words and ideas you share).
To do it well takes time, practice and some knowledge of how to construct sentences, “hooks,” stories and ideas, all of which must come from your brain, your heart and your soul.
But it’s not just about getting the words syntactically or grammatically “right,” or making sure your punctuation is correct. It’s about writing what you want to write, how you want to write it, and in a voice that’s unique to you.
My writing mantra is this: “I write for an audience of one … myself. And if you read my work, you’re the audience of one.” What that means is this: If I write for myself, I’ll have the satisfaction that I’ve done what I set out to do, and I realize that I can’t control what anyone else wants or thinks.
And that’s OK.
That said, it’s also OK to doubt yourself now and again. I do, as do the most prolific, recognized and respected authors in the world. (It can be a fragile cohort.)
But if you want to write, one piece of advice I’d give you (and it’s what I told my 20-something creator friend) is this: Let the question “Am I a good writer” come and go, and then open your computer (or grab your pen) and get to it. Because whether you think what you’re creating is great, good or just “meh,” if you enjoy it, if it moves you or makes you happy, it’s worth it; especially if you’re writing what you want to write. Then if you choose, put it out to the world, the neighborhood or your circle of friends, and let them determine if they want more.
But don’t stop. You’re part of a special group: one who loves to create and share their work with an audience, but also someone who won’t be stopped by the opinions of others.
And if you write you are, in my eyes, a good writer. Believe it.
© 2024 David R. Haznaw