That’s what the critical voice does. It makes writing hard, unpleasant, and something to be avoided, rather than embraced.
All of us who write face that. We just have different battles with our critical voices. Some writers battle the voice in the words on the page. Other writers battle the voice in the types of stories it’s okay to tell. And apparently, some, like me, battle the voice on expectation of production.
So I need to revamp. Again. As I seem to do annually with that pesky critical voice.
Since I had the realization so soon after the workshop, I thought I would share.
As is always true with any workshop I teach, I suspect I learn more than the students do. And I never know what I will learn.
Although I usually do learn something new about myself.
I’m still here. Which, in the digital age ,says A LOT.
Still HERE, in your corner. Here to give you tough love, more love, hard truths, more laughs and let you know that you matter. Your writing matters—regardless the reason you do it—so do yourself a huge favor and take time finding your WHY.
Then once you find it, always keep searching. The world needs more dreamers, more storytellers and more stories.
That’s writing a novel into the dark. Buckle in and believe you will end back up in the station, breathing hard and laughing.
Yet so many writers have bought into the myth that writing is “work” and you must suffer for your art. And that you can’t make a mistake or have a wrong word and everything has got to be planned out ahead because, heaven-forbid, you write extra words.
And, of course, everything has to be rewritten, edited by someone who doesn’t write, rewritten again, and so on in search of a perfection that never can exist in the arts.
That’s torture and writers who write that way seldom last for more that a few books or a few years.
Sitting alone in a room and making shit up is fun. Plain and simple. Sometimes fun because of how well a story is going, sometimes rollercoaster fun of pure terror and worry and fear (and maybe even panic).
But fun.
So go have fun. Gets some words done. It’s Friday night and I have a movie to watch.
Being a great writer takes a lifetime. There are hundreds of skills that all work in tandem, and then there’s the mental and emotional maturity earned from experience that makes your fiction resonant.
It’s very tempting to get to a point where you’re pretty good and just stop. You’ve found your comfort zone. You say to yourself, “I’m a good writer now, this is the kind of stuff I write, and it’s working. I’ve found my place and I’m going to stay in this lane for life.”
It’s such a relief. No more struggle. No more failure. Consistent success.
At least that’s how it seems.
In reality, your comfort zone as a writer is a path to stagnation, to atrophy, to becoming a plagiarist of yourself instead of a creative writer.
The temptation of the comfort zone is exacerbated by the publishing industry. Publishing is a business first and foremost, and the strategy is usually “this made us money, so do it again and again!”
Many successful authors fall into this repetition pit and spend the rest of their careers regurgitating their past successes ad nauseam. Authors need to make a living just like anyone else, and a comfortable life doing what you love is an admirable goal for a writer. Right?
I would posit that this is an unfulfilling life for a writer. A life of diminishing returns, and of slowly, steadily waning quality.
The only way to grow as a writer is to consistently step out of your comfort zone.
(…)
Writing is not something you do in your room alone. It’s not an excuse to hide from the world. Don’t let your home become your comfort zone. Get out and experience life or you won’t have anything interesting to write about.
Fail. Learn. Grow. Repeat.
It’s the only way to become the best writer you can be.
Barbara G.Tarn - writer 