Mechanics on Monday...Conquering Doubt: by Natalie Charles

Shoo, doubt crows!

Does a blog post on managing self-doubt fall under the writing mechanics rubric? Doubt can wreak havoc on productivity, influence decisions, and sometimes paralyze a writer altogether. If mechanics are the tools in our writing toolbox, then we want a tool at our disposal to assail self-doubt. At least, I do. So I’m calling it a mechanics issue.

I learned a little bit about doubt when training for my first marathon. Running wasn’t something I especially excelled at, but I decided I wanted to run a marathon because…well, why not? I read several books on the process (as you do when you intellectualize everything) and then I began training. Here’s what I discovered.

There’s a part of our brain that tells us that exercise is too hard, five in the morning is too early, or that hill in front of us is too big. The conservative, practical left side of our brain is programmed to make us lazy. When we’re running, it’s that voice that says, “Hey, slow down there, rock star. Let’s walk a minute or two.” It’s a built-in buzz kill, and it’s there because from an evolutionary standpoint, it makes sense for hunters and gatherers to trend toward laziness. The answer in running is to discipline yourself to ignore this voice because it will lie to you. It will tell you that you're tired and hurt when you're not.

Fine.

Unfortunately that same voice urges us toward moderation when we’re faced with any kind of hard work, such as writing. When we’re stuck on a plot problem, it’s the voice that says, “You’re too stupid to make this work. You should just stop,” or, “Wow, you really screwed up this book, didn’t you? No one’s going to buy it/read it/publish it/like it now.” My voice tells me to do something less mentally challenging, like watch television, or knit, or read, or bake…my lazy brain is full of helpful suggestions. This voice is doubt.

Doubt isn’t necessarily about perceiving looming failure. It’s often about perceiving hard work. It distorts our capabilities, telling us that we can’t do something when we may be doing it just fine. That’s important to remember. Doubt is our inner couch potato. For me, this explains why I feel self-doubt kick in the second I receive a request for revisions, or when I'm writing the first three chapters of a new book. I envy anyone who can calmly take on those stages because revisions and beginnings are hard.

Doubt feeds on fear the same way a parasite feeds on blood. It’s a pernicious little bastard who happens to intimately know all of our worst fears, and it uses them against us to get its lazy way. It’s like you’ve hired Stephen King to write thrillers based on the contents of the dusty boxes in your mental attic. Remember that fourth grade teacher who told you that you needed to work on your grammar? Or that time you got a “C” on a piece of writing you cared about? Thought you’d buried that bit of info, didn’t you?

For example, I had a high school track coach who once told me that based on my body mechanics, I would hurt myself if I ran long distances. I’m pretty sure that he made it up because he needed someone to throw discus and javelin, but when the long runs in my marathon training got tough, those words were there to haunt me. What if I hurt myself permanently, the way he said I would? Maybe I need to walk for a few minutes... I’ve since trained for and completed two marathons without hurting myself. See? Doubt is not reality.

If doubt needs fear to live, then to control doubt, we need to starve it. I try to do this by confronting my fears. Most thrillers hide the identity of the bad guy until the very end of the story because the hidden is frightening. When you expose something to the light, you reduce its power over you. Same thing with fear.

One of my favorite mystery writers, Lawrence Block, wrote about dealing with fears in Write for Your Life. In it, he suggests confessing your fears to someone before you write. This is an exercise I have done many, many times since I read that. When I’m having a Day, I sit down alone (I don’t usually have a partner available, alas!) and I verbalize my fears softly to myself or write them down. Once I confess that I'm afraid of failure (or bad reviews, or harsh feedback, etc.) I feel more equipped to move ahead. When the doubt crows begin, I understand that I don't really think I'm a talentless hack, but I'm a little afraid of failure. Confronting the fear that feeds my doubt helps me to put it in perspective. 

This is not to say that doubt doesn’t ever play a valuable role, but there’s a difference between the “I don’t think my heroine is sympathetic” doubt and the “I’m a complete fraud” doubt. The first is our artistic sense and the second is our lazy brain. The first is worth paying attention to.

It’s empowering to acknowledge our fears. It’s downright brave to acknowledge our fears and to then move confidently forward. We own our doubt. We do it to ourselves, and we can do better than ignore it. We can control it. Write bravely, friends.


When does your doubt kick in, and how do you control it?