Real Courage

In my last essay, I wrote about the importance of not thinking – at least for a moment – so that we can choose what we want to think. Writing, after all, is a practice of choosing the thoughts (sentences) that best serve our story. When a sentence doesn’t work, we take it out; and when we don’t know what sentence should come next, we wait and wait until the idea the story needs arrives.

However, as a reader pointed out, sometimes in this waiting, in this silence, our unhelpful inner editor, whose worrisome voice grows dim when the thoughts are flowing quickly, steps forward and begins offering all kinds of opinions about our work. She doesn’t like it. She’s frankly surprised we didn’t see this ourselves. That’s why she’s here: To save us from the shame of blithely sharing this crap with the merciless reading world. Better to hear it from her than the harpies and ghouls on Twitter or Amazon.

I know of writers who give their inner editor a name in an attempt to contain them. “I’m not going to listen to Charlie right now,” they’ll say. “I’ve got work to do.” This can work, I suppose, but here’s the thing – Charlie doesn’t exist. He is the embodiment of the belief that what other people think of our work matters to us. It doesn’t. When the thoughts are flowing quickly, when you’re lost in the story, you never wonder what anyone will think of what you’re writing. That feeling of being lost in your own pleasure, of forgetting about the world and its judgment and its complaints – that’s reality. The editor is an illusion.

I understand that choosing to believe in reality takes some courage. The illusion of shame feels quite real when you’re caught in its hot grip. To be free of it, you’ll have to admit on some level you don’t even care when people like your stuff. If you’re honest, when someone says they love your story, they’re not telling you anything you don’t already know. If you don’t care if people like your work, you certainly don’t have to care if people don’t like it. All the praise in the world is not going to heal you, and all the criticism isn’t going to hurt you. Have the courage to admit you’re fine as you are and always have been, and that the only question that truly interests you, is not who likes your work or if it is any good, but where your story will go next.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

William KenowerWriting, Criticism, Courage, William kenowerComment