One of the most difficult and yet important pieces of the writer life is believing in yourself and believing in your work.
I have a book that just launched into the world (two days ago, to be exact). This is my first traditionally published book (but certainly not my last). I am currently in the launch season, and I’m feeling all the feelings that a writer can possibly feel. Nervous, ecstatic, terrified.
Yes, mostly terrified.
Is it really a good book? Will others think so? Am I good enough?
That’s what it really comes down to: Am I good enough?
Earlier in this pre-launch season, I was having dreams that various people at my publishing house would come to me and say, “Oh, never mind. We’re not publishing this book.” Dreams where no one bought the book and online reviews were filled with hate and criticism. Dreams where my book vanished in a cloud of gray smoke, just another unremarkable book in a world of them.
My husband is a very perceptive man. He has noticed my distraction, and, though he has been baffled by it, he has also been angered (in a good way) about it. The other day he stood in front of me, wrapped his hands around my upper arms, and said, “Do you believe you deserve this?”
Do I believe I deserve this? I wasn’t really sure how to answer the question.
Do I?
In some ways, yes. I work hard both to improve my craft and to produce the best stories I can possibly produce at any point in time. I put in the work—I get up at 4:15 in the morning so I can squeeze in some writing before my kids start begging for breakfast. I write in the afternoons, when I could be hanging out with my kids. I write in the evenings, sometimes, when I could be sleeping.
I write daily. I practice all the time. I focus on what needs doing, and I do it. I always have.
But in most ways, or at least the ways that matter, no. I don’t believe I deserve this.
I grew up in a home where my mother supported everything I did—to the point of keeping, still, now, a box underneath her bed with all my writing compositions from grade school on into college. But there was a missing dad. And when there’s a missing anything, we grow up with a large hole inside us, a hole that whispers:
You’re not good enough. You never will be.
You don’t deserve this. You never will.
It’s only a matter of time before they find out you’re nothing more than an abandoned girl.
This persistent whisper can derail a writer. Because the mental game is most of the game.
I have fought hard for this dream. I started from the ground up; I had no connections, no credits, nothing to recommend me to the world except a story and a drive to work hard and a conviction to be better tomorrow than I am today.
But maybe—well, maybe that was enough. Maybe it still is enough.
Do I deserve this? Yes. I do.
Do you deserve this? Yes. You do.
Believe that your hard work and persistent practice will pay off. Believe that you can reach your dream. Believe that your dream is glad you have found it, embraced it, fought for it.
Mostly, believe that you deserve it.
