Who Am I To Write?

Sometimes I Feel Like a Hack

Do you ever wonder who died and gave you the ego to write? The nerve, the balls, the right?

Maybe it’s just me.

It’s only fitting with my writer’s insecurities of late—the imposter syndrome, the fears, the frustration, the—oh—lack of focus. I’ve even questioned my niche. Do I prefer to write memoirs or essays? Does it matter? “Write what you feel!” they say.

That’s what I’m trying to do. Write what I feel.

Of course, writing what I feel has led to a series of whiny essays about feeling less than as a writer. I suppose I’m just trying to find my bearings again. I mean, after all, it does take a certain amount of ego to write for the world to see.

The thing is, ego isn’t the only thing that goes into it. And that’s what makes it magical. To write, to truly write, takes courage, honesty, and a raw vulnerability that can sometimes be painful to unleash.

I guess when we are doing something we love, that we put so much of ourselves into, it’s natural that our feelings ricochet from wall to wall. It’s all cyclical. Sometimes we feel empowered, sometimes we feel unsure. Passion, it’s a funny thing.

Sometimes I feel proud of what I write.

Sometimes I feel like a hack.

Sometimes I want the whole world to read my stories.

Sometimes I want to hide from it all.

But I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop.

“Write for yourself, not others,” they say. Well, that’s all fine and good, but I can do that in a journal. Maybe they say that to make it all less scary and daunting. Maybe they know exactly what you’re feeling. If you tell yourself what you’re putting out into the world is just for you, it might help blind you to the notion that others are out there to judge you.

But it isn’t the others who judge you. You are your own judge. You are the one comparing yourself with others. Coveting what you feel they may have that you don’t, whether it’s talent or readers or followers or accolades—and worst of all, a publishing deal.

So how do you, how do I, overcome this?

Best I can figure is, you don’t.

You use it. You use it to drive you. You use it to push you. You use it to keep you humble. You use it to push you places you have been afraid to go.

Just keep swimming.

Ego isn’t a bad thing. It’s a necessity. It’s part of the recipe when becoming an artist. It’s the part of you that breathes bravery and allows you to be raw. To be raw, to refine raw. So, no. No one died and gave you the ego to write. The nerve, the balls, the right.

You simply write.