What Do Writing and Outrunning a Bear Have in Common?
By Marie Ellis
Does staring at the empty void of a spotless Word doc activate your sympathetic nervous system? Sure, you’re sitting at your desk. Your cup of tea is releasing steam in a beautiful dance of calm. But your body thinks you’re running away from a bear.
Or perhaps you’re the type of writer for whom staring at a blank page isn’t the end of the world. Blank spaces are full of opportunity, right?
Whichever type of writer you are, I know something about you. At some point in your writing project—whether this is your first book or your seventeenth—you’re going to battle fear.
Have I captured my author’s voice? Is the reader going to care? Have I done enough research? Am I actually a terrible writer?
When I first started writing books, I assumed this fear materialized from inexperience. Surely, I’ll become more confident after my next book. Or my next one. Or my next one?
No. And don’t call me Shirley.
Cue the banners and confetti—surprise! It will never go away. The bear will always be just outside your door.
I recently attended Matt Haig’s latest book launch for The Midnight Train in London, and he said something that resonated: “This is my twenty-fifth book, but writing every book feels like the first one.”
Here is a bestselling author across fiction and nonfiction, children’s and adult, who continues to feel like a fraud every time he starts a new project. If someone like him feels this way, are we all doomed?
No, I say. We’re all invited.
Invited to join the ranks of nearly every other writer in the history of writing, to accept the fact that continuing to write is continuing to battle fear.
Stephen King famously threw his career-making novel Carrie in the trash after being rejected by twenty-five publishers. His wife had to fish it out of the bin and tell him to keep going. Publishers told Louisa May Alcott to stop writing and focus on teaching before Little Women was published. Beatrix Potter couldn’t get a publisher to take on The Tale of Peter Rabbit, so she self-published.
And I’m sure if we had a time machine, we’d see Plato quaking in his sandals while drafting The Republic and Aristotle second-guessing himself while writing the Odyssey. But the reason I’m mentioning any of these authors is down to one common thread: They persisted.
Words are black and white on the page. They’re clear and definitive, and it feels as if their creator must have come to the blank slate with full confidence.
Never that. Never, I promise.
The ability to feel this fear over and over again, and to continue to battle it, is the ultimate act of resilience. And though I suspect the fear never goes away, my ability to deal with it grows stronger. It’s like Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven “still is sitting, still is sitting” just above my door, and I’m not freaking out.
Don’t get me wrong, it still bothers me. Of course, I’m worried it’s going to land on my shoulder and peck my eyes out, but I know it won’t, because it never has, so I just keep on writing.
I see this fear with my ghostwriting clients, who are mostly business and health leaders—experts in their fields. So often, they’re afraid to insert themselves in their own books because they’re worried the audience won’t care about them or their story. But they are the story. And their audience wants to peek behind the curtain to understand who this person is, expertise and wisdom, flaws and all.
And there’s something else going on behind this fear that makes good writing so electric. We are humans. We are flawed. We have nervous systems that betray us at every turn. I’ve come to find that riding that wave of fear and creating anyway is the path to making something that stops us in our tracks and forces us to pay attention.
To counteract these waves of terror, we often seek moments of ease. When can I go on a holiday and lie on the beach? How can I create a life that’s devoid of friction? Give me some tech to make this easier.
But experience should teach us that difficulty is the catalyst for building something good. Polyphenols increase when a plant grows in adverse conditions like wind or extreme temperatures. Muscles only grow when we subject them to damage. Writing improves when you subject it to criticism.
Growing and stretching doesn’t feel good in the moment, but the payoff—the antioxidant-rich fruit, the stronger body, the impactful writing—is worth the discomfort.
And so, dear reader (and writer), the next time you’re filled with dread about that looming deadline, remember you’re in good company and are probably on the right track. Because if you’re full of fear, you’re likely doing something new, and it will probably turn out well. Eventually.
Just ignore that half-bear, half-raven sitting outside your door. Or better yet, invite it in for tea. It’s certainly not going anywhere.
Marie Ellis is a Sunday Times number 1 bestselling ghostwriter who helps business and health leaders in the US and UK tell their stories. She is the director of MUSE Content, a boutique health content agency. Connect with her on LinkedIn or through her website.
