The Secret to Great Writing: Insecurity
I have a confession to make. I’m a perfectionist. I slave over a piece of work long after most people would have given up.
Why?
I fear if I don’t deliver a perfect piece of work then I’ll appear a failure. If mistakes are found in my arguments then readers will think I’m a fraud. And if every single story I write isn’t compelling then nobody will ever want to read me again.
Severe. I know.
As you can imagine, perfectionism can shipwreck a writing career since perfection is unattainable. I set unreasonably high standards that are difficult (if not impossible) to meet and can lead to exhaustion.
In some cases, I may never even attempt a project if I can’t be the best. Opportunities are lost. In other cases, I may fail to ship, derailing projects and breaking commitments.
This is why I have to maintain a strict writing schedule for every writing project that includes days I can write what, hours spent each day, daily and final word counts, and deadlines.
Again, severe, but necessary. I have to set boundaries. If not, my insecurities will run riot over my production, and even ruin my creative output.
But without those insecurities — that includes the paranoia that I’d be passed up — I would not have the drive to work very hard. Yes, I work very hard to compensate for low self-esteem, low self-worth. But I consider that a blessing.
Fortunately, those insecurities are balanced by a confidence in my skills and a love for solving complex writing problems.
This means I confront those riddles head on until I’ve unraveled them (trust me, the solution will eventually come). This means I confront those insecurities head on until I’ve once again gagged and bound them.
But I don’t execute those insecurities. I never will. Because I need them. To heckle me. Mock me. Prod me on to ever greater work.
In the end, this low-grade (albeit mistaken) ache that I’ll never be good enough will not allow me to rest on yesterday’s achievements.
And I’m grateful for that.
