bead-bead:

awfullythick:

starlinghawke:

thatgirl-who:

So, you’ve read something that has resonated with you. It’s everything you’ve wanted in terms of characters, prose, plot and pace. It’s the best you’ve read in years. You reread your favourite lines. You have to take a break just to absorb every meticulously crafted line. You are in awe of how something so small can seem to take up so much space.

And in a perfect world, it would inspire you to go out and create. To work on that story that is languishing in your save files, to pick up that WIP you abandoned, to make you want to write something different and new and better. 

Instead, it makes you feel inferior. The words are too good. You could never write like that. The characters are too perfect. You don’t have that insight. The story is too captivating. Your ideas are boring, cliche, plain. The insight is remarkable. You can barely string a thought together coherently. 

Why even bother, you think.

Don’t fall into that trap. I have been there so many times. I have abandoned writing for years because of “why even bother”. I have let it destroy my confidence, only to patch it back up in a cheap imitation of what it once was, just to let it invade my thoughts again. I have questioned every thing I’ve written, every choice, every line, because why even bother if someone is so much better. 

YOUR WRITING HAS MERIT. What you don’t realize is that it’s not in terms of better, but different. Different style, different story, different interpretation, different mind.

Someone out there will love the way you describe the night sky in poetry. Someone out there will love the way you describe the look on someone’s face when their heart breaks. Someone out there will love your idea, that strange one that seems impossible or already done, because it’s new and exciting or they love endless amounts of that same story. Someone out there will love your interpretation of that character, whether more gentle or bitter or broken or healed. Someone out there will love the words you write, the grandiose use of adverbs (my guilt) or the minimal scattering of dialogue. Someone out there will love your abundance or lack of something you saw in that story you so loved, the one that rendered you speechless and snuffed out your fire. 

Someone out there will love your words. And you need to share them. 

Speaking as a writer, no one sets out to create something to discourage others. No one wants to dominate their corner and be the only one there. No one wants to be alone in their craft. If they do, they are doing it for the wrong reasons. Speaking as a writer, I would never want you to read my writing and think, why bother. 

I want you to think, why bother waiting?

Your story matters. Your writing matters. It’s beautiful and defined and gorgeous and a work in progress and growing and already there and insightful and mysterious: it all has merit. 

Never stop. Never stop writing and practicing and doing and creating and learning and loving the words you weave.

You may think someone has done it more beautifully or better or too many times or never because who wants to read it? 

They maybe have done all those things, but they lack one thing: they haven’t done it like you have.

Thank you, I needed this.

One thing that helps me get over this is to go back and re-read my own fics. Usually not the newer ones, but the older ones, where I’ve forgotten the exact gist of the story and no longer have a really strong impression of what I wanted that story to be (and thus a strong impression of how short it fell once it actually existed) to get in my way. Nothing makes me want to write more than going “wow, I wrote this, and it’s pretty decent!” about fics I wrote a year or more ago.

Comparing myself to other writers is a very, very bad idea. Enjoying my own past fics, while at the same time thinking about the ways I would improve on them if I were to write them now, is typically pretty inspiring.

Thank you, thank you. I needed this, too.