You Are a Writer

by Jeff Goins

  So I asked an expert.

  In The War of Art, Steven Pressfield explains you have to “turn pro” in your head before you can do it on paper. More important than book deals and hitting the New York Times Best Sellers List is this belief in yourself.

  In other words, you have to trick yourself, because you aren’t a writer yet. You’re just beginning. But we all have to start somewhere, and a writing career begins with you.

  At first, I didn’t buy this. So I emailed Mr. Pressfield. I wanted to know the truth about this writing business, what it really took. In an interview, I asked Steve, “When do you really become a writer? Is it when you get an agent? When you sign your first book contract? When you sell 100,000 copies?”

  He said it was none of that. The truth was much simpler. When do you become a writer? “When you say you are,” he said.

  I didn’t get it. I poked and prodded, trying to dig deeper. I wanted practical steps and formulas. Where were my charts and diagrams? But he insisted, “Screw what everyone else says. You are when you say you are.”

  I decided to give this a shot. What choice did I have? All this self-doubt, all this questioning — I was willing to do whatever it took to alleviate the lack of confidence I felt.

  So I started saying I was a writer. I put it on my Facebook page. Included it in email signatures. Everywhere I could, I wrote that I was a writer. It was kind of ridiculous, but something crazy happened as a result of this campaign.

  It actually worked.

  As I started making these public proclamations of identity, I actually started believing them. I began to trust my calling before I had anything to show for it.

  Before anyone else called me one, I believed I was a writer. And I started acting like one.

  Then something strange happened. I started to get better at my craft. All because of a few, mere words. Through this process, I learned a crucial lesson. Before others will believe what is true about you, you’ll have to first believe it yourself.

  Okay, we’re going to do an exercise together now. Take a moment and write this down. Do it as an act of faith, of believing before you see. Say it before you feel it.

  This isn’t positive thinking mumbo jumbo; it’s affirming something deep inside of you that you’ve been resisting. It’s time to submit, to surrender. Are you ready? Write it now before this sense of urgency leaves you. Grab a pen and paper — make this a tactile experience — and write the following words:

  I am a writer.

  Good. Now do it tomorrow and the next day. Continue this practice for the rest of your life until you believe it. And then keep doing it as a means of practice and ritual. Because there will always be doubt. Always anxiety and second-guessing.

  Welcome to the life of an artist.

  Being True to Your Voice

  Most people don’t know what they want. We writers sometimes forget this. So we write the words we think others want to hear. There’s just one problem with this. It’s not how you create art.

  As a communicator, your voice matters. More than you realize. We (your audience) are relying on you for your insight and profundity. We need you to poke and prod, not merely pander.

  You have to be yourself, to speak in a way that is true to you. This is the next step to reclaiming your life as a writer — taking yourself seriously so your audience will, too.

  Admittedly, this was hard for me. I had spent years helping other people find their voices. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize my own when it came. And truth is I didn’t. I needed help. I needed people to tell me when I had hit my sweet spot. When I had struck a nerve.

  When I started writing every day without excuse, I didn’t know my material was resonating with anyone. I was just showing up. It took a few friends telling me I’d found my voice before I realized it.

  The same may be true for you. Some days, it’s enough of a chore just to put your butt in a chair and stay put. To create something. Anything. If you do this long enough, though, you start to create really good work.

  It may be subtle at first, but if you continue — if you persevere — you’ll discover a reality all professionals know quite well.

  Everything is practice. Every word you write and action you take is a chance to get better. This is the difference between professionals and amateurs. Pros are always looking for a chance to get better, to improve their craft just a little more.

  Practice Makes Habits

  Last year, I finished my first half-marathon. But this wasn’t my first attempt at running one.

  A few years ago, I tried to run a race and failed. I didn’t practice, didn’t buy the right shoes, and didn’t do the work. Halfway through the training, I injured myself and had to quit.

  Then I tried again. But this time, I took it seriously. I gave the sport the respect it deserved.

  I believed if I put the time and effort in, I could do it. I committed to a plan and made room in my life to practice. I used the right equipment and invested a little money, which made me take it even more seriously.

  Several months later, I crossed the finish line.

  Not too long after the race, I woke up early one morning, drank some coffee, and went for a five-mile run. After that, I wrote a few pages for my book and went to work.

  That evening, I looked back on the day and was shocked by all I had accomplished. Getting up early, running five miles, writing over a thousand words — where did all this discipline come from?

  It came subtly, as all things well practiced do. It didn’t happen by thinking about it. Not through wasting time with meaningless goals or silly, fruitless plans. No, it happened from doing the work — creating habits and building momentum. This is the secret to mastering any discipline: As you conquer one, you’ll find it easier to tackle another.

  If you do anything long enough, it becomes habitual. This is the goal for any passions in life: to wake up and do it without thinking. This can happen for writing, running, and anything else you want to do in life. It won’t be easy, but it can become effortless.

  Yes, it may hurt on occasion, but if you do something long enough, you eventually stop thinking about it.

  Professional weight lifters don’t get sore like you and I do when we lift weights. They show up, push themselves, build muscle, and go home. Then tomorrow, they get up and do it again.

  The less they think, the more successful they are. The same is true of any craft. Soreness is the result of untrained muscle. If you practice every day, you don’t get fatigued. All muscles are built this way, even creative ones.

  When you start writing every day, you’ll find yourself getting more comfortable with your voice. So will others. As those two intersect, you’ll discover your message.

  This may take months or years. But if you keep showing up, keep practicing and doing the work of a professional, you’ll find it.

  The Secret to Successful Writing

  Experts say you’re supposed to imagine a specific person and write for him. This is a trick marketers use to find their ideal customer. They choose someone, give him a name, and focus all communication efforts on reaching that person.

  I did the same. I chose to write for one — and only one — person: myself.

  The only person you need to worry about writing for is you. This is the secret to satisfaction in anything: doing what gives you life and not trying to live up to others’ expectations.

  As you do this, you may find what I found, that you’re not as unique as you thought. There are a lot more people like you than you realize.

  When I published my online manifesto and over a thousand people downloaded it in a week, I realized I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. It made me feel not so alone. Incidentally, that’s the same thing people who read the manifesto thought when they read it.

  Someone recently put it like this: “If you’re ‘one in a million,’ and the world is full of seven billion people, that means there are seven thousand people just like you.”

  When
you think about it like that, you don’t feel so alone anymore, do you? Which raises the question: If there are thousands of people out there waiting to hear from you, how do you find them? Is it hard to believe that it starts with you?

  It Begins with Passion

  For five years, I wrote a blog nobody read. I measured my traffic and did everything I could to maximize my reach. All the while, my heart slowly died, and I grew bitter.

  I watched other writers succeed in ways I hadn’t, and I envied them. Eventually, I grew to resent them. Why? Because I wasn’t doing what I wanted. I was writing, but I wasn’t enjoying the process. I was only chasing results.

  So what did I do? I went back to the basics: writing for the love of it. Not profit or prestige. Not analytics or metrics. Just for writing for the sake of writing.

  As a result, something amazing happened: I started to have fun. And the quality of my work dramatically increased. I finally felt free to do what I loved.

  You can do this, too. But this kind of change comes with a cost. As with all good things, there will be sacrifice — a price to pay.

  De-clutter

  In order to create your best work, you’ll have to make room for it. You’ll have to cut out the excess noise and focus on what really matters: the writing.

  In our world today, distractions abound. Thousands of advertising messages inundate us every single day. As a result, we live hurried, frantic lives full of interruption.

  The average attention span is short — less than three minutes (I’ve heard as short as nineteen seconds). The demand for writers with the ability to capture and maintain interest is high.

  Go ahead and try to watch a five-minute video on YouTube. I dare you. If you get through it without checking email, changing browser tabs, or picking up your phone (or wanting to), I applaud you. You have a rare ability that most now struggle with.

  For me, the worst of all these distractions is social media.

  Facebook. Twitter. Posterous. Friendfeed. Blogger. Ning. Plaxo. LinkedIn. Google Plus. Wordpress. Instagram. AIM. Jabber. Tumblr. Flickr. Foursquare. LinkedIn. Myspace. Digg. Delicious. Stumbleupon. Yelp. Path. Gowalla. And more.

  I’ve been on them all. And I have little to show for it.

  Online, there is this expectation (usually self-imposed) for writers and communicators. It’s a fallacy, but it doesn’t stop well-meaning people from saying it all the time. The myth goes like this: “You have to be everywhere.”

  That’s ridiculous.

  You know who says that? People who are always responding to the latest trend. I know this, because I was one of them.

  When I started writing every day, I realized a painful truth: I can’t react and create at the same time. Neither can you.

  Our brains don’t work well when we try doing too many things. Though we may have eclectic interests, we can only do one thing at a time and do it well.

  Multitasking is a myth. You can either create or react. But you can’t do both. Choose wisely.

  It’s hard to say no, but it’s even harder to spin your wheels. To waste your creative energy on frivolous things like an endless series of check-ins.

  You know what most of this crazy, social media platform maintenance is? Stalling. Procrastinating the real work you need to do, which is writing.

  I don’t play that game anymore. I pick a few networks that work for me and I say “good riddance” to the rest. If you’re going to be a real writer, you’ll have to make similar sacrifices.

  I don’t know your distractions, but you do. Fess up to them, do a little purging, and get to work.

  Cancel Contingencies

  There’s a trend amongst writers. Most have more ideas than they know what to do with. They have hundreds of half-written articles and a few books started.

  How many of these projects have they finished? None. I was the same way.

  Once a month on a Saturday, when the wind was blowing just right and I felt inspired, I would write. I’d write for hours at a time — long, drawn-out essays about who-knows-what. It felt beautiful and precious, but really it was a waste of energy.

  I would come up with imaginative ideas and potential projects —websites and communities and other brilliant creations. Some of them I’d actually start, even followed through with a few. But I finished exactly none.

  I wasn’t creating. I was only dreaming.

  This is dangerous territory, when your creativity hijacks your productivity. Do you know what’s at work here, when we thrash around with countless projects?

  FEAR.

  Fear of finishing. Fear of picking one thing and sticking with it. We think, what if it’s the wrong thing? What if I mess it up?

  Here’s the truth: There is no wrong thing. Just begin. Once you learn how to finish, you’ll be able to start again.

  Cancel all backup plans, pick a project (it may be a book, blog or whatever) and move forward. Start writing. If you don’t, all you’re doing is waiting.

  Fail Forward

  As you cancel contingencies and find something to stick with, you’ll need to learn how to ship. You’ll have to move through fear. You’ll have to learn the lesson every writer hates learning.

  In fact, nobody wants to learn this lesson: how to fail.

  Steve Jobs once said, “Real artists ship.” I love that. However, someone recently reminded me it’s the shipping part that’s emphasized when it should be the artist part.

  In other words, just because it’s shipped doesn’t make it art. But if it doesn’t ship, it doesn’t matter what it is. Art is creation. It needs to exist on paper or screen to fulfill its purpose. Which is to change something.

  Real artists risk failure every time they release their work into the world. If your words are going to matter, you will have to do the same. You will have to let go.

  Until you do, you’re not creating art. You’re just screwing around.

  Remember: The fear of something is always scarier than the thing itself. Yes, there is pain and rejection. But the greatest failure is to never risk at all.

  When you fail, you don’t really fail. You learn. You draw a lesson from it. You find new ways to move forward, ways to work around future problems. As Thomas Edison said, you find 999 ways to not succeed. If you persevere, you hit that 1000th try — the moment of breakthrough.

  But this happens only if you ship.

  Build a Community

  When I first started writing and sharing my work, it was on a blog. Blogs let you see how many readers you’re affecting every day, so it was easy for me to get off-track — to focus on results instead of process.

  I chased numbers, not people. I thought like a pollster, not a conversationalist.

  Not surprisingly, I failed. I had hundreds of daily visitors, but no friends or followers. No one who really cared about my work.

  If you’re going to fall out of love with public approval, something interesting will happen: People will be deeply attracted to your work.

  They won’t be able to help it. Passion is contagious. If you treat people like human beings and write from a place that is deep and true, you will find your audience.

  But you won’t do it alone.

  You will need others’ help. You will need a community. And that community begins with one person who truly believes in the work.

  That person is you.

  So what do you say? Time to start writing? Thought so.

  The Truth About Writing

  Writing is hard — real hard. It’s work. Somehow, you never talk about that in your college composition class.

  Nobody wants to tell you the truth, because if you knew how hard it was, you’d never start in the first place. You’d quit before you began.

  Let’s begin there — with the truth — shall we?

  What Nobody Ever Tells You About Writing

  It’s harder than you think.

  It’s not enough to be good. You have to be great.

  Nobody cares about you. People car
e about themselves.

  It’s more about who you know than what you know.

  You’d better love it. (Otherwise, quit now.)

  So what do you do — now that you’ve been acquainted with the real world? Do you give up or persevere?

  Nobody ever tells you this. That writing takes more hours and energy than you’d ever be able to plan for. That no one cares about you as the writer until you’ve actually written something. That what you write isn’t as important as getting your work in front of the right people. That, above all, if you don’t love it, you’re kind of screwed.

  At least, nobody ever told me those things. Maybe they did, and I just wasn’t listening.

  Now that we’ve debunked some common beliefs about writing, what does it take to become a writer? Well, there are two camps.

  The First Camp

  “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

  —ERNEST HEMINGWAY

  Writing is hell. This is one camp of thinking.

  The reasoning goes like this: This is serious work, so if you want to do it right, it will have to cost you everything. Including your life. No two ways about it.

  We read about men like Hemingway the drunk or Dickinson the recluse and romanticize their lives. We think, This is just the way it goes. And we set ourselves up for lives of dysfunction.

  It’s a cheery thought, isn’t it? All it takes to succeed as a writer is the ability to deal with a considerable amount of blood loss? Thanks a lot, Ernie. No wonder so many creatives are given to suicide and substance abuse.

  I have a friend who says this about writing: “Don’t be the sacrifice; make it.” I like that.

  There are plenty of writers who choose the Hemingway route and suffer through their life’s work. They subject themselves to the violence of their art, instead of conquering it. They ruin marriages and type masterpieces while completely wasted. They wallow.

  If you’re a wimp like me, though, you may not be too keen on suffering. In which case, rest assured. There is another way. You don’t have to suffer; you can work, instead.

  The Second Camp

  “Talent alone cannot make a writer. There must be a man behind the book.”