When it comes to monsters, the most dangerous ones are the ones we don’t recognize.

“This sounds horrible.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“What’s the point? Nobody’s going to read it.”

Do any of those sound familiar? When I speak at schools, I call them the monsters. They’re the self-destructive thoughts that creep in when things are going badly. They’re believable and painful and almost impossible to avoid. They also block you from being successful.

Not all monsters come from within. Some are thrown at you. These can bite just as painfully.

“Of course they said they liked it. They’re your family.”
“It’s all cliche. There are no new stories.”
“You really think you’re good enough to be published?”

You know the worst thing? All of these monsters breed. One “they only said they liked it” can spawn a dozen “I don’t know what I’m doing”s and then a “what’s the point, anyway?” Suddenly, every word you write sounds trite. Every sentence becomes a battle. Whatever voice you had is swept away in a whirlwind of second-guessing.

One approach to monsters is denial. Just pretend they don’t mean anything. Of course I’m a good writer. How could I be anything else? If that works for you, you can stop reading here. It doesn’t work for me. More accurately, it doesn’t work for long. It might get me through the day, but my nighttime monsters are way too hefty to be blocked by denial.

When it comes to monsters tossed at us, we could choose to simply not listen. How many of us have defiantly declared that we don’t care what other people think? Of course that’s not true. If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t write. Writing is caring. There’s no other reason to do it.

Besides, as writers, we can’t ignore feedback. Listening is a core requirement of writing. If a critique partner tells me a scene feels too distant, I have to hear that feedback, understand it, and do something about it.

So what do we do? How do we fend off the monsters? How do we build the kind of self-confidence that lets us recognize them, but not let them affect us?

Stack successes.

You can start right now. Think back to a moment when someone loved something you wrote. I don’t care if that person was your mother or your spouse or your child or whoever else. Play back that moment in your head. Recognize that you wrote that awesome thing.

Congratulations. You just laid the first brick in your new foundation.

Now, think of something that took you a really long time to do. Maybe it was writing your first book, or getting a good grade in a tough class, or learning how to play piano. Whatever it was, understand the resilience and toughness required to do it. Realize that if you could do that, you can do something even tougher. Now, you’ve got another brick in your foundation.

See what we’re doing? Your foundation gets stronger with each success that you own.

Your foundation is about more than just writing. It’s knowing that you can do whatever you set your mind to. Writing can be scary and challenging and frustrating and hard, but you can do it.

Cook a great meal? Bam! Add it your foundation. Write your first villanelle? Fantastic. Put feeling in your foundation.

At this moment, somewhere in the back of your head, there might be a monster telling you that none of your successes matter, that you’re just fooling yourself, that none of this has anything to do with writing.

Ignore it. Keep building your foundation. That monster isn’t anything you can’t defeat.

Every time you have a victory, take the time to own it. Yes, be grateful to whatever higher power you believe in. Yes, celebrate the friends and family who helped you along the way. But also celebrate yourself. Identify the aspects of your own personality that helped you be successful.

You know that saying about failing teaching more than succeeding? Whoever said that didn’t know how to analyze success. Learning what works is just as important as learning what doesn’t. Do that analysis, and don’t forget the key takeaway that you were the one who succeeded.

Every success, and particularly every analyzed success, is a brick in your foundation.

I’ve wandered pretty far from writing, so let’s get back to that, and see how our foundation can beat the monsters I mentioned above.

“This sounds horrible“

This is the sneakiest of the monsters. I can’t count the number of times I’ve read a piece of my own writing and thought, “oof. That’s really bad.” In and of itself, recognizing problems with our writing isn’t bad. What turns this thought into a monster is its vagueness.

If I look at a scene and think, “not enough personality” or “too narrative” or “too wordy”… that’s okay. Those are solid critique notes that I can work with. “This sounds horrible” doesn’t lead me anywhere. All it does is bring on feelings of incompetence and inadequacy.

If this monster attacks you, take a look at your foundation for pieces of your writing that worked. Examine them for techniques you can use. Break down your vague unhappiness into specific improvements. Most of all, don’t let it stop you. Your foundation has tangible proof that you’re a good writer. Lean on that.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Take a breath. This monster could be a lie or an exaggeration or it could be the actual truth. Regardless, examine your foundation for a time when you actually didn’t know what you were doing. Did you figure it out? Of course you did. You can figure this out, too. Who cares if some part of you thinks you don’t know what you’re doing? You’ll figure out whatever you need to figure out. Trust yourself.

“What’s the point? Nobody’s going to read it.”

This is code for despair, and fighting despair is a big topic, too big for me to responsibly dive into. My suggestion is to start by looking at your foundation. Have your felt this way before? Did you come out of it? How? Is there anything there you can use? If so, use it. If not, at least you can take comfort in the fact that you beat it. My response to this monster is anger. I get pissed that it even dares talk to me. Sometimes, I get so pissed I end up writing at three am. That’s okay. Nobody said fighting monsters would be easy.

“Of course they said they liked it. They’re your family.”

Self-doubt at its nastiness. This monster is telling me that anyone who likes my stuff is just humoring me. I don’t have an easy argument against that claim. I’m guessing you don’t either. So, fight it with truth. Remember moments of appreciation from your foundation. Do you really think all of those victories were fakes? I hope not. Use your foundation to center yourself, and then do an honest appraisal of the writing in question. Look for what’s working. Decide if anything needs to change.

“It’s all cliche. There are no new stories.”

Nothing like weaponized cynicism. It’s easy for someone to read what you wrote and tell you it’s a cliche. It’s also stupid. We don’t even need our foundation to fight this one. Are we expected to read every story ever written to make sure we’re not duplicating anything? Of course not. We tell stories that are fresh, meaningful, and impactful.

“You really think you’re good enough to be published?”

Some monsters aren’t disguised at all. This one is a straightforward attack on what you’re trying to do. Whether you said it to yourself or someone said it to you, the answer is the same. Of course you’re good enough. Look to your foundation. See the resilience and perseverance there. That’s all you need.

Ready to beat those monsters?

Just keep building your foundation, and it will give you everything you need to fight off the monsters.

You know what’s really cool? Each time you beat a monster, that victory is a brick for your foundation. The next time the monster rears its ugly head, you can chuckle and remember the last time you beat it.

I hope this has been helpful!

How about your monsters? Any that you’d like to share?

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