The first time you ran into a wall it came as a surprise. Not because you didn’t believe in walls, but because you didn’t know they could appear in the middle of a sentence.
But you broke through it like the Kool-Aid Man, with the same broad smile, the same blatant disregard for plaster and paint. Because you were a writer and that’s what writers do. They persist.
And persist you did. Through the next wall and the next, until one day you hesitated.
Do other writers run into this many walls? you wondered.
Writing used to be about ideas and dreams. Once, you were an architect with an empty skyline and a pocketful of girders. But something happened along the way. You were demoted to demolition. Oh, you found certain strange satisfaction in the power to destroy with the press of a button. But it didn’t last. Before long you were staring at ten thousand craters where a hundred buildings should be.
On that day, and with dust-choked despair, you thought The Thought That Must Not Be Thought.
“Maybe I’m not a writer after all.”
In that moment, the earth stopped spinning, the Walden woods grew dark, James Patterson put down his pen. Everything and everyone waited.
Would you walk away? Would this be the wall that defeats you? Would you give up your dream? Could you?
You sighed in resignation. No, not yet. Every other writer sighed in relief.
And the world resumed its spin.
You took stock.
This is not as easy as it once was.
You are not as good as you thought you were.
You have a lot to learn about writing. About re-writing. About trusting your instincts. About breaking bad habits.
You do not yet suffer in brilliance; you suffer because you’re not yet brilliant.
And so the wall looks at you. You look at the wall.
You lift your fingers, set them gently on the keyboard. And you begin again to write.
Meanwhile someone is watching from a little ways off. She looks a lot like you, only older. She smiles, then whispers, not quite loud enough for you to hear…
You’re better than you think you are.
Comments
16 responses to “Better Than You Think”
as I read this through I began gathering thoughts in response … then you silenced me with your last line.
er, I should probably clarify, since silence can be dangerous … I mean that you silenced me with your kindness and your beautiful writing.
thank you. i knew what you meant. i’ve become almost fluent in sarah-ese. 🙂
well that just absolutely made me cry.
back to work.
and thanks.
Now I know what to listen for. Thanks Stephen.
If only . . .
I hope so. One day. Maybe.
Printing this off. Posting it over my desk. Thanking you every day.
One word:
Awesome.
I needed to hear this. I just didn’t realize how much until now. Thank you!
I’m pretty sure you’ve been spying on me. And I know I was eating too many cookies at the desk and that my goal for 1000 words only turned into 252 for that day, but thanks for remaining encouraging!
I needed this. I’ve needed it so many times before (I’m already my slightly older self), and I”m sure I’ll need it many times again. Printing now. Thanks!
I cried.
Thank you. So, SO much. This was exactly what I needed. Especially those last sentences. ♥
I printed this and now it’s in my notebook where I can always read it, when I doubt myself.
So well expressed. I have nothing to add. I really should read your blog more often. I always find gems when I come here.
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