Not every piece needs to be Pulitzer worthy

For anyone wading through the inevitable waters of self-doubt, keep writing

A reminder to anyone who needs it, myself included, writing for the sheer love of it is absolutely okay. As is writing to figure things out, to connect, to question, to explore. 

Not everyone needs to (or will be able to) make their living from Substack. But if you want to, then I’m cheering you on all the way. 

As well as being a place where we can play with words and experiment with different forms, this is also a wonderful space to share thoughts, art, invite conversation, connect, geek out on our favourite topics, and more.

Photo by Nicole Baster on Unsplash

Not every post needs to be a fully polished essay or award-winning poem. Think about the pieces you have read that have stood out - perhaps they moved you, made you think, offered a new perspective, allowed you to reconnect with an experience or inspired you to try something new. Were you marvelling at the immaculate grammar and syntax? Maybe. Perhaps you were enthralled by the rhythm of the language and the places it took you to. But there’s also the possibility that you were captivated by something else entirely.

Great writing is a wonder to read. It can be a transcendental experience. But do I always reach for a Booker winner? Hell no. Sometimes a plot-driven diversion is exactly what I need. And as on our collective bookshelves, here too on Substack. There is enough space for all the styles, and you are allowed to switch between them as you choose.  

I write this as someone who works with creative humans who are constantly wading through the self-doubt that comes with the courageous act of sharing their words, art, voice and way of seeing the world. Whose fingers hover over the publish button, whose notebooks stay unshared.

Starting is the hardest part. Keeping going comes a close second. It can be even harder to do the latter after having some sort of positive reaction to your work. Maybe your last piece of writing drew a few new subscribers or got thoughtful comments and reshares. The pressure then increases, along with the oh-so-human desire to do well. To write something as good or, ideally, even better.

It’s often at this point that a protective mechanism kicks in - procrastination is an inbuilt way of shielding ourselves from failure. Think of the authors whose debut novels are a publishing sensation and who then don’t publish again for years. Of the tricky second album. 

There are some incredible mentors and teachers here on Substack and I love learning from them. It is a joy to be able to pick up tips on craft and technique from folks who are mastering theirs.

And also, there is only one you. And you are constantly growing and evolving. Discovering your own voice, and tuning out the noise while you hone it, will be some of the most challenging yet important work you will ever do.

If you’re currently stuck, look at how children instinctively approach new creative projects. As Picasso said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”

Photo by Amauri Mejía on Unsplash

Things I remind myself of when it all feels a bit swampy:

You are allowed to experiment with different styles of writing

It’s okay to make mistakes, that’s how we learn

Playing with words / paint / ink / curiosity threads sparks joy

Of course you’re still figuring things out, you’re a human. We’re all still figuring things out.

And again, it is words that have been attributed to Picasso that I always find myself coming back to - “Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.”

What would you add to the list?