I find it really hard to write sometimes. I get imposter syndrome, or I assume that whatever I have to say has already been said before or just isn’t important. Sometimes I can’t look at a blank page because I’m so afraid that what I write on it won’t be good enough. But good enough for whom? Good enough for me. Because I’m my biggest critic.
As I write this article, my mind thinks, “It’s bad. It’s too informal. It’s too critical. You don’t have the authority to write about this. It’s just a puff piece. You should just stop writing this and quit while you’re ahead.” If something I do isn’t my version of perfect, my mind doesn’t think it’s good enough. Nothing I create is ever perfect, so it’s never good enough. Whenever I feel like my writing isn’t good enough, I feel like I shouldn’t write because I don’t deserve to.
Amanda Palmer writes in The Art of Asking how she sometimes feels undeserving of writing and like she isn’t good enough when she writes about “The Fraud Police:”
“The Fraud Police are the imaginary, terrifying force of ‘real’ grown-ups who you believe – at some subconscious level – are going to come knocking on your door in the middle of the night, saying: ‘We’ve been watching you, and we have evidence that you have NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING…you do not actually deserve your job, we are taking everything away and we are TELLING EVERYBODY’”(42-43).
Writing is so sacred to me, and I often feel like I can’t live up to the standards that other writers before me have created. I feel an intense self-doubt that is accompanied by fear of not living up to my conception of those standards. But all I can do is my best. All anyone can do is their best.
Margaret Atwood said that, “A word after a word after a word is power.” Words form sentences, and sentences form a complete piece. While I’m writing about imposter syndrome in this piece, I’m not giving power to it. Rather, I’m giving power to overcoming it. Feeling like an imposter is a valid feeling, but nobody needs to feel that way.
Descriptivism is “the belief that books about language should describe how language is really used, rather than giving rules to follow saying what is correct and not correct” “Giving rules to follow saying what is correct and not correct” is the prescriptivist approach. Regardless of what prescriptivists say, though, people will always use language in the way that they see fit. The same goes for writing. There are so many rules regarding writing, but people don’t always follow them. In fact, people who break the traditional and formal rules of writing often make history through their experimental work.
People are going to write how they want to, regardless of what the rules of writing are, so why not be someone who’s undeterred by the rules and just write what you want to how you want to? There’s so much power in writing, so just do the darn thing. Write what you want to how you want to. If need be, editing can always follow. Writing a first draft or a stream of consciousness journal entry doesn’t need to be perfect. As Salvador Dali said, “Have no fear of perfection — you’ll never reach it.”
The difference between a writer and someone who wants to be a writer is writing. The actual act of sitting down and putting thoughts on a page makes one a writer, and writing is a powerful act, as it is always a form of self-expression, regardless of the form or subject matter. Expressing oneself is brave, and there is no reason why one needs to be afraid of doing so. A teacher I had in high school once said, “Never be afraid to do something you’re good at.” If you think you’re bad at writing, you’re wrong. There’s no one way to write besides to sit down and write.
This piece is as much of a reminder to myself as it is to anyone else reading this: The way you write is uniquely yours, and nobody can take that away from you. Your voice is unique and powerful and deserves to be expressed, whether you want the world to hear it or you want it to stay locked in your journal forever. You’re a writer, so write.