Writers seem to be masters at the art of self-sabotage. I’m no different. The dreaded Doubt Monster lurks in my head, frequently rattling the cage I like to pretend I’ve got him locked inside. The Doubt Monster loves to say things like, “Your writing isn’t good enough,” or “Why don’t you quit pretending you’re a writer and focus on a career, like the rest of us do?”
I hate the Doubt Monster. He pretty much hates me. It’s a mutual hate/hate relationship.
When I need to chase the Doubt Monster back into his cage, I refer to this handy piece of advice called 25 Things Writers Should Stop Doing (Right Fucking Now). There are always a few things I can glean from Chuck Wendig’s advice piece, like taking ownership of your writing, and giving yourself the permission to be a writer. It’s your calling, right? So act like a writer, then.
For me, the importance of this post is the realization that while the act and art of writing is a solitary task, being a writer is something only a select few can truly relate to. Chuck Wendig’s column, while being peppered with some breathtakingly hilarious and cringe-inducing profanity, is a not-so-gentle reminder that you’re not alone. All writers go through those periods when all we want to do is throw our manuscripts in a pile outside and set them all on fire – believe me, I’ve done exactly that. But we can’t, nor should we. Because we’re fucking writers, that’s why.