You’re Not A Writer, You Just Write:

Why It’s Dangerous To Believe In Your Potential As A Writer

Advice For Fighting Writer’s Block

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Lately, I’ve been finding it difficult to write. And I’ve realised it’s because I’ve mythologised my potential.

Writing on here was once something I did occasionally, just for fun, and I rarely told anyone in my personal life about it. It’s like the secret Tumblr account that quirky teenagers have, it doesn’t matter what I say on here because no one is going to see it, right?

But as I started to get more attention, I slowly began advertising it more to my real-life circle. In the process, I’ve gotten more praise which has somehow made me more inactive.

Amidst the plethora of articles about how you can make decent money just through writing online from a personal blog — my desire to do that in the future is causing me to have some sort of writing paralysis.

For anyone who’s dealing with a similar predicament, I’ve realised there’s a sort of affirmation I can say to myself any time I can feel the procrastination or perfectionism get to my head.

I am not a writer, I just write. Likewise, you are not a writer, you just write.

Being a writer is not your identity, writing is just something you do. When you believe it’s your identity, you believe any sentence you type has to be magical because you have some sort of God-given talent. That leads to two things:

1.) Arrogance over your mediocre output. Claps, likes and some friends telling you it’s decent does not mean it actually is.

2.) Inaction. You believe your writing has to be perfect and so you avoid the act, because of the anxiety associated with it.

Even if you do have some ‘natural talent’ (I personally am sceptical of this phrase anyway), it means nothing if you are not willing to put in the work required to master your craft.

I know that’s a saying that gets uttered on Medium a lot. I know it sounds disapproving. However, there are a couple of other things I wanna say that I do see less often. One of them is that most advice about ‘mastering your craft’ (especially if it’s advice you see on Medium) that isn’t backed by tangible research or data is likely to be very limited, even if it sounds smart.

That’s not necesarily the fault of the advice-giver because they’re giving advice based on what helped them. The same rules may not apply to you and your journey will probably be different.

One of the strongest pieces of writing advice that I remember to this day is Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule. It’s the idea that if you spent 10,000 hours on deliberate and focused practice, you can master your writing or any another skill. Though it is not exempt from criticism, I recommend learning more about it here.

To be honest, even when it’s backed by ‘data’, the advice still isn’t guaranteed to be helpful because data can be limited too. You’ll often see conflicting advice and so the best choice you can make is to choose a method, jump in, see if it works and if it doesn’t, change it. Simple trial and error.

That means it can be hard to know what path to take.

For instance, some of the questions I’m asking myself, and you should be asking yourself to are:

• Should I focus on quantity? Putting out as much as possible and staying consistent? Should I hope that quantity leads to more quality in the long run and doesn’t simply make me a lazy writer?
• Should I get really good at SEO (Search Engine Optimization) and learn how to take advantage of it?
• Should I starve myself of dopamine and online attention for a while and just write without posting?
• Should I read a ton, and make sure I choose challenging material to read so that the material rubs off on me?
• Should I do some fancy data modelling and analysis of my work and my habits, to see how I can optimise my content?

I don’t yet, but what I do know is this. I have to take action, because:

The Only Thing Worse Than Being A Has-Been Is Being An ‘I Could Have’

There’s a large group of people in the world. Their sentences often start with the phrase ‘I could have’. You should avoid becoming one of them at all costs. My mind labels them as ‘could-haves’.

I often see could-haves in other areas besides writing. They’re people who constantly lament about the past and say things like ‘I was considered gifted when I was a child. And I have a high IQ. I could have gone to Harvard!’

These people are not necessarily lying, maybe in another life, they could have gone to Harvard. But we are in this life, and such sentiments often reek of arrogance and self-pity.

There are some ‘could-haves’ who did try or had truly unfair circumstances that prevented them, but they won’t be as loud about what they ‘could have’ done — because they often possess more humility.

Could-haves are worse than has-beens. At least a has-been achieved something in the past. Could-haves are nostalgic for the fantasy of their potential.

In the end, you will not be remembered for what you ‘could have’ done. You will be remembered for what you did.

You will not be remembered for that magnificent idea you have in your head and ‘could have’ written. You will be remembered for what you wrote. Don’t let that be nothing.

When Paul McCartney was asked about the Beatles’ decision to sack their old drummer (Pete Best) and replace him with Ringo Starr, he said “I do feel sorry for him, because of what he could have been on to”. Is that really consolation?