Of all the writing advice I’ve gotten and even given, it’s easy to get bogged down in fine details about grammar mechanics, language, plotting, or anything. So many think there’s some sort of master ruleset that if you can just follow it, you’ll be a hugely successful author and the world will adore you and the words will come easy and…

Simply put, that’s not fair to believe. And it’s not fair to perpetuate. 

I’m not going to go into advice like that. 

There are two pieces of advice I’d consider the most valuable ones I’ve ever heard, and they’re pretty closely linked in theme, so I want to discourse on the two of them. What’s great is that they’re very simple sentences, super easy to remember, but they don’t pull their punches. They might seem brusque or blunt, but… the more I’ve thought about them over the years, the more they’ve made sense.

The first is “You can’t edit a blank page.” The second is “You have permission to suck.”
12 words total. The best writing advice I’ve ever heard. So let’s discuss a little.

You can’t edit a blank page.
This really is one of the most important things to keep in mind. You can think about writing all day long, every moment, but… unless there are words on a page, all you’re doing is thinking. Prepping, planning, postulating. 

But at the end of the day, you need to have words on a page in order to have a written story. 
So it’s literally advice to just write. Put words down.

There’s all kinda of studies on the effectiveness of practice, quality vs quantity, how to maximize what you can do in a given amount of time. There are exercises (I’ve done plenty of them on Patreon), practices, techniques you can do to focus. You can do word sprints, focused tasks, whatever, but they all boil to the same thing: writing words.

Write words. That’s really all it is.

You have permission to suck.
This one is the one that really seems almost rude. I didn’t react well to it when I first heard it, probably around 12 or 13 years ago.

Thing is, it’s largely the same advice as “You can’t edit a blank page.” 

Part of the problem with a lot of art—and life in general—is the tendency to only see the finished product, not the steps to get there. We see the final performance of the dance number, not the hours of rehearsals. We hear the concert, not the years learning to play an instrument, the repetition of the parts over and over again. We view the sculpture or painting without seeing the lump of clay or marble block or blank canvas. We read the final draft and don’t see how much it’s changed from the first. 

We are constantly comparing the best of things to our own worst efforts. People see NYT Bestsellers and think they could never write something like that. I’ve been so guilty of this myself: thinking I needed to have each word perfect from the outset.

But that attitude doesn’t do anyone any service. It’s paralyzing attempting to start, disheartening if things don’t seem perfect from the start, and it facilitates over-criticizing yourself. If you’re expecting a finished product from the start and you don’t get it… how much easier is it to give up altogether? 

No, what this advice teaches is that ANY words are better than no words. They can be as bad as you want, but you’re allowed to write badly. Write smut if you want. Write self-indulgent self-insert fanfiction. Write as badly as you want to, just write it. Make it real, and if you want to after that, you can work on making it better.

You know, tying it back to editing. You can always make something better with revision and work.

It just has to exist first. In whatever form it does, just make it exist.

That’s really it. As much as it sucks, it’s simple. This is how we practice. We make words. We make sucky words. And then we make more. We make them better. And eventually… the sucky words are less sucky in general. Our bottom line improves and… we keep writing. We still suck.
But we accept it. 

And then we edit it.

As of right now, the most recent scene I’ve written is the prologue for Subscription Life, and I have mixed feelings about it. It’s incomplete, in that it’s not as… girthy as I want it to be yet. I feel like it’s just skimming the surface of what it could, should, and eventually will be.

That is what editing is for, but I’m honestly not terribly satisfied with it. The main content is there, but it feels… thin. Translucent, like a veil that only kinda shows what’s underneath it. 
I’m not displeased by any means. I’m just not too particularly happy with it. 

The thing is, I’m finding out this is a regular tendency of mine, and it’s one very much at the forefront of my consciousness as the next big personal improvement project I’m going after. 
I don’t commit like I should.

I’m overly cautious, afraid to take real risks with things like I should, too afraid to fail or fall short. This goes for pretty much all my creative endeavors. I’m an okay singer, an okay actor and voice actor, an okay author.

And I’ve been stuck in that “okay” range, at least as far as I can tell, because I hold back because it’s safe. I need to push boundaries more. I need to be okay with failing and doing something again, trying again.

I don’t like rewriting. Even most of my edits are more about word choice and correction. I never really try writing bits of scenes again, and that honestly feels like a pretty big confession for me. Thing is, I KNOW I can do better. I am well aware some of my stuff is extremely bad or lacking. 

Pride is a funny thing, and I’ve both let it rule me and cast it aside arbitrarily in odd ways that don’t really make sense to me. At least I can say it’s not like I write things and want to be able to brag I get it right the first time. That’s a whole level of hubris I’ve never seen the draw of. No one’s perfect.

But I’ve accepted too far in the opposite direction. The okay. The bare minimum. I can do so much better. 

I want to take more of these risks. I want to improve. This is the only way I can, at this point. I need to stop being okay with just getting the idea out on paper and spend more time criticizing where I’ve played it safe as an artist.

I need to not be afraid of failing, of looking stupid or incapable, even if it’s only to myself. Because let’s face it, I’m the one I’m failing to please here. I’m not judging myself that way, but I am still allowing my own self-image to accept what’s not good enough for me. 

I deserve a better me. I want to be him. 

I’m gonna go reread that scene and really tear it apart.

UPDATE: After I initially wrote this blog post a week or two ago, I did go and straight up tried again at the prologue scene. Initial draft was around 1150 words. Second attempt was 1000 words more than that. I did reuse a few sentences I liked, but I tried to cut loose a bit more and really go for it. I have to say there was a marked difference. The new version is far more dynamic and interesting. I know I still can go further, but... yeah. This is the right direction!