Five Fears of Writers (and How to Defeat Them)

When I first started working on this post, I thought, only five? But as I compiled my worst writer nightmares, I realized they do fall under five general headings.

Fear of Wasted Time

Anyone who has either written a novel or been in the querying trenches understands this one all too well. Nothing moves quickly. Not the novel itself, which takes numerous revisions before it starts to sound readable, and not the querying process. Agents and publishers can easily take six months or longer to get back to you—if they ever do. And in the end, you can spend years writing, polishing and sending out a novel, all to receive… nothing. No advance, no publication, no interest.

But has it really been a waste of time? If you’re only focused on the result, then yes, it can look as though years of work + no published novel at the end (unless you self-publish) = a waste of time. But if you shift your focus to the process, suddenly everything looks different. Writing is, and always will be, a learning process. Every novel you write is destined to teach you something new. It should. If it doesn’t, that means you’re working according to a formula and repeating the same book over and over—and not moving forward.

The learning curve for novel writing is much steeper than most people realize. A lot of my clients are stunned to learn that two or three drafts aren’t enough to produce a publishable novel. Not even close. These writers are even more shocked to hear that many well-known authors throw work out and start over. No one would ever have such unrealistic expectations about learning to play the violin. Why should writing a novel be any different?

Here’s the thing: if you’re only doing this for the results, you’re in for a rough ride. If you don’t love the process—if the process isn’t the reason you write in the first place—then I highly recommend you do something else. The process is everything. The results are gravy.

Fear of Failure

Related to the fear of wasted time is the fear of failure.

• What if I’m not good enough?
• What if I’ll never be anything more than ordinary/mediocre/average?

No one starts out being good enough. And once again, cue the violins. Imagine you’re embarking on a lifelong dream to learn how to play that wretched instrument. How long do you think it will take to get good at it? I wasn’t sure myself, so I asked Reddit. The consensus seems to be: years. Maybe as many as ten, and then you’ll be decent—though not great—depending on how much work you’ve sunk into it.

Talent plays a surprisingly small role in this process. What’s key? Hard work and dedication. As with any skill, the people who make it look easy are the ones who’ve put in all the work.

In her wonderful book, The Creative Habit, Twyla Tharp exposes this myth of talent when she talks about both Mozart and Baryshnikov.

According to her, Mozart said, “People err who think my art comes easily to me. I assure you… nobody has devoted so much thought to composition as I. There is not a famous master whose music I have not industriously studied through many times.”

And Baryshnikov, even after he was the most admired dancer in the world, was still the hardest worker. Always.

You want to be better than ordinary, average, mediocre? You want to vanquish the fear of failure? Then get to work. Study the novels of great writers. Figure out what they’ve done and how. Practice. Swallow your pride. Get feedback and listen to it. Be prepared to throw work in the garbage. Learn. Read. Work harder.

This is the process. There is no other.

Fear of Humiliation

Let’s say you do work hard and get published. Don’t worry, success comes with its own set of fears.

I write (among other things) historical fiction. When my first novel came out, I was terrified that some history buff would come along and find errors in my work. Luckily, that fear had been motivating me for some time, so it caused me to be ridiculously meticulous about my work. Not only did I read numerous books, I also hired an expert to double-check my manuscript and used several beta readers who’d lived through the experience of East Germany.

Then I planned ahead for the dreaded experience of public speaking by taking every opportunity to get up on stage: going to open mics to read my work aloud, volunteering to introduce other writers—anything to rid myself of the fear of speaking to a crowd. It can be done.

Fear of Judgment

This is another one that might follow on the heels of success: what if people are offended by what I write?

Yes, your parent/spouse/whomever might be upset by your book. If you’re writing directly about someone you know and you’re worried they’re going to be offended, you have three choices: don’t do it, ask them first and get their approval, or tell it slant and deny deny deny.

Regardless, once the work is out there, you can’t control people’s reactions to it. You have to be okay with that—or else consider using a pseudonym.

Bad reviews are an offshoot of this fear—and some of them will be bad. Again, that’s out of your control. All you can do is write the best book you can—and then steer clear of the reviews.

Fear of the Blank Page/Screen

Part of dismantling this fear involves not believing in it in the first place. Part involves understanding that writer’s block is not really a fear of not being able to write; it’s a fear of not being able to get it right the first time (i.e., what if I’m wasting my time?).

Perfectionism is the enemy of productivity. First drafts aren’t meant to be perfect. They’re meant to be finished. It might be helpful to think of your first draft as an exploratory draft. I’ve also heard people call it the barf draft, but that might be a little too colorful for some folks. The point is, the first draft is all about figuring out what your story looks like. It involves trying things, taking chances, getting to know your characters. There’s no right or wrong here.

If you’re still worried that when tomorrow comes, you won’t be able to get started, try Hemingway’s trick of leaving off the day’s work in the middle of a sentence. Personally, I reread the previous day’s work to give myself a running start.

Any writer who is paying attention to the world around them and doing a lot of reading shouldn’t worry about running out of ideas. Ideas are everywhere. All you have to do is write them down. Keep an ideas file. Eavesdrop on conversations. Be an observer of human nature. Read—both within and outside your genre.

In Conclusion

Most of us are afraid of the same things—and most of these fears are within our control. When we expose them to the light and then deconstruct them, we see that in reality, there is nothing to fear… except hard work, that’s scary.