The Two Voices

If you’ve been writing for any length of time, you’ve likely heard of the Inner Critic – that voice within each of us on the lookout for what it considers bad writing. If you’re used to listening to it, you may view it as a kind of creative partner. Someone’s got to spot the bad stuff, and preferably be merciless about it. You know how you get sometimes, leaving something in that should never have made it past the first edit. Then your writing group, or your editor, or – God forbid – a reviewer or reader points it out, and you feel that nauseating naked shame. What were you thinking?

The Inner Critic wants to help you avoid this experience by repeating it privately with you. Better to hear it from him than anyone else. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not meant to be. He believes pain is the best and, ultimately, only effective teacher. Who, after all, would ever forget a whip’s sting? The Inner Critic knows how you like to take it easy, how averse you can be to hard work, and so reminds you of the time you slacked for just a moment. Now you’re doing it again. Frankly, you disgust him sometimes. There are days he doesn’t think you deserve to be read by anyone.

Fortunately, there’s another voice in me I can choose to listen to. It’s related to the Inner Critic, in that it too recognizes what doesn’t belong in my stories. However, this voice does not traffic in shame or pain. It knows only what does and does not satisfy itself. It’s seeking pleasure in every sentence and word. If something doesn’t please, it must go. No hard feelings. No crime was committed. In fact, the only feeling this voice recognizes is satisfaction, and it seeks it and seeks it and seeks it, a kind of tireless bloodhound trained for one beautiful scent.

This voice belongs to the Inner Artist. He is a true creator. Criticism and shame have no place in his work, for an artist does not make what he or she would not want to experience. There are times I don’t listen to my Inner Artist, when he isn’t satisfied with what I’ve written but I leave it there anyway. I don’t think I can do better. He knows otherwise, but he’s patient. Time means nothing to him. All he knows is the joy of creation, and he will be a ready and willing collaborator the moment I’m ready to again accept that guiltless pleasure.

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

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com