Why Writing is Not for Wimps
You probably didnāt choose to be a writer because itās a lucrative career. I doubt you sat down, thought about all of your career options and decided, āHeyā¦I think Iāll become a writer!ā Letās face it. Writers are rarely able to quit their day jobs. Yes, there are some who make enough to live on, but most of us barely earn enough to maintain our Starbucks habit.
The reason most writers write is because they just canāt help it. You know what Iām talking about. You have a burning desire inside of you. Maybe you felt it when you were reading Dr. Seuss as a child. Maybe it developed slowly over the years. Or maybe itās something that suddenly dropped into your heart. And if youāre reading this book, chances are youāre convinced that part of your purpose here on earth is to write. Itās more than just a dream. Itās your passion.
Each writerās passion looks different. My passion is to be a multi-published (and preferably wealthy) novelist. Someone elseās passion may be to get published in a particular magazine. To share their testimony. To become a newspaper reporter. Maybe itās to speak in front of thousands of people. (Pause to shudder).
But although we each walk different paths along our writing journey, we do encounter the same obstacles. And, speaking from experience, there are plenty of obstacles!
If thereās one thing I knowāand you probably do, tooāitās that writing is NOT for wimps. It takes discipline, determination and drive. It takes perseverance, patience, and persistence. It takes STRENGTH.
But yetā¦ our inner wimp sits on our shoulder. And he or she tells us we donāt have what it takes. Weāre not cut out for the business of writing. That God really DIDNāT call us to write ā we must have misunderstood.
THE DRIVING FORCE BEHIND OUR INNER WIMP
Wimpiness always stems from FEAR. Hereās an easy-to-remember acronym for FEAR.
FAITH ENDS AT ROAR!
In other words, as soon as we hear the first ROAR of an obstacle, we cower.
Imagine walking past a junkyard. You hear the angry growl of a dog. You canāt see the dog, but in your mind you picture a Doberman Pinscher or an irate Rottweiler, baring his sharp pointy teeth, foaming at the mouth. Your heart starts racing and your eyes dart everywhere, looking for the dog, sure heās going to attack at any moment, even though your rational mind tells you heās locked inside the fence and unable to get to you.
Do you dive for the nearest bush? Do you turn and run? Do you cross the street and take a detour? Or do you forge ahead, determined to pass the junkyard and reach your destination, despite the angry growl to your left?
How often do we, as writers, let āgrowlsā deter us? As soon as we encounter an obstacle, we run for cover. We turn around. We give up. Up pops Inner Wimp. Down goes Inner Faith.