Unless you’re writing only for yourself, the words never to be shown to anyone else, you’ll need to develop confidence in yourself – as a writer and in your writing – in order to succeed.
Do You Have Confidence as a Writer?

Do you call yourself a writer and actually believe the statement? For five years, I did so before I actually believed it. One day I said, “I’m a writer” and realized that it was true. Somehow the confidence had snuck up on me over those five years of struggle. I wasn’t embarrassed by the statement, nor did I apologize, explain, or belittle myself. I made the statement and went on with the next idea or question.

I remember standing on the threshold of my front door, holding a letter from my soon-to-be-publisher, reading that she wanted me to write a textbook for her company. I stood there, awestruck. I couldn’t move. I don’t know if I cried or not (probably did), but I remember thinking, “Wow, I’ve finally made it.” This letter came nearly twenty years after self-publishing my first book in 1980. The textbook came out the following year, 1999, Simplified Paragraph Skills, and the next one in the series came out in 2000, Simplified Essay Skills (McGraw Hill, available on Amazon.com).
What Does a Lack of Confident Look Like?

In my experience, the lack of confidence creates a checkerboard career of writing experiences, with you (me) jumping from one field to another, one genre to another, hoping for quick success and a confirmation that you’re a good writer. Every time a rejection comes in, you jump to a new field or genre, hoping the new one will be “the one.” That hopping about doesn’t take into consideration the fact that any kind of writing – any activity – takes practice, and often lots of it.

When I was younger, and just starting out as a writer, I struggled to find the kind of writing I could enjoy and excel at. I tried short stories, but they were too short. I tried novels, but they were too long. Then I stumbled upon adolescent novels, which are about 150 manuscript pages, just right for my sensitivities. Later I felt confident enough to tackle screenplays, which are up to 120 pages but with far fewer words per page than a novel.

I also liked writing nonfiction and played around with various genres. I found I could write using simpler language, which is great for documentation as well for as the adolescent novels. I tried articles, but again they were too short, at 1000 words or more (now with blogging, I’m getting used to the excessively short length). Now, I am a good enough writer to be able to judge with a good deal of accuracy how long an article will take for any given sliver of a topic. That ability comes with experience – and confidence.

Of course, we’re all meant to write something different, so hopping is required to try out different options before settling on the right one(s). I may admire those writers who can pump out quality novels, one or two novels a year, but I know that kind of writing isn’t for me. But hopping too quickly from one option to another without giving the genre or audience or whatever a solid effort, is not a good idea; it is a display of the lack of confidence.

It’s a matter of finding the right fit, like clothes. Some clothes are too tight, binding you under the arms or around the chest. This binding causes discomfort or outright pain, which is never good for anyone. Other clothes are too loose, or too flamboyant, or of a texture that isn’t pleasing to you. Writing is the same way. For me, I prefer the moderate length pieces of writing, whether fiction or nonfiction. I enjoy writing for a younger audience, but I also enjoy helping people like myself. Over the years, I’ve tried on a lot of different writing styles and have finally found, I think, several that fit me quite nicely.

It’s also like social media/networking these days. Many sites offer tantalizing opportunities to connect with others. Your job is to try out as many as you have time for, so that you can find the few sites that match your needs and grant useful benefits. Writing is the same way. In the beginning – heck, throughout your career – try out new ideas, new genres, new audiences, new topics, and as they say, if it sticks, go with it.

I remember my first short story teacher at a community. She told me that I “was very talented and should continue writing.” I dismissed her praise because I lacked confidence in myself as a fiction writer. After all, I was just learning my craft; how could she praise me for those beginning efforts? Years later, when a studio executive told me the same thing about my screenplay, I thanked him and chalked it up as one more feather in my confidence cape. I was finally ready to hear that compliment. I had achieved confidence as a writer.
So What Does Having Confidence Mean?

Confidence means you trust in your talent and skills as a writer.

Confidence means you know, in your heart, that you write well, that your writing has meaning and can be of help to your readers.

Confidence means being able to take risks as a writer. You put your work out to the world to be read and criticized or applauded. But you do put it out there.

Confidence means you can separate yourself from your work. When someone criticizes your work, you don’t feel like you’ve been personally insulted. You’re not a bad person just because someone doesn’t like your writing. Sure, you created the writing out your experiences, fantasies, fears, emotions, and other filters, but the writing is not you. You can take the criticism, apply the good points to the writing and learn from them, and toss the rest.

Confidence means you can write for others, to their specifications and ideas, if you choose to. Writing for others is much harder than writing for yourself, using your own ideas and goals as direction.

Confidence means you know you can tackle any writing task you confront. You might struggle at first (which may shake you up) with the new challenge, and you may need to rely on samples of the genre, but eventually you’ll feel like you’re in control. You can succeed with the task. That’s confidence.

Confidence means you’ve achieved enough success as a writer to overcome the skepticism of your worst critic (no, not your mother) – yourself.
Conclusion

You never know when that feeling of confidence will strike you, or sneak up on you without your realizing it. You never know when it will happen. But it will happen, someday. Until then, keep on writing.
When did you finally realize you were “a writer?” Tell us your story. Leave a comment below.

Do you want to use this post in your ezine or on your blog? You have my permission, as long as you send notice of publication with a link to katie@ploegersservices.com, and include the following paragraph with links intact in your post:
Katherine Ploeger, MA, MFA, is a writer, editor, teacher, and consultant. She publishes practical, process-oriented information for nonfiction writers and screenwriters on her blog, Katie’s Writing Notes (katieploeger.wordpress.com). Also check out her website at www.ploegersservices.com for e-courses and other materials about writing.