Write like no one’s watching (yet)
Promoting yourself shouldn’t feel like walking naked through a crowd of clones of everyone who’s ever made you feel small, and other reflections.
Every creator needs to know this simple truth: your work will never be perfect. At some point, everything you make will make someone somewhere cringe. More often than not, that someone will be you.
I can’t even look at old work without an ‘Oh God’ escaping my lips, and I’m not even sure it’s because it’s bad. It’s just so… 2010, know what I mean? I dare you to look at old photos of yourself if you don’t. Those low-rise jeans, the thin eyebrows – what were you thinking? (Don’t worry, you should have seen me. Oh God.)
But the level of cringe you feel is actually a sign of growth, of how much you’ve improved as a writer, creator, human who somehow manages to get dressed in the morning. That’s something to be proud of. I’m learning to see it not as a failure, but as a milestone. The more I cringe, the more I must have grown, I try to tell myself.
Learning to be comfortable with being a beginner was an important lesson I’ve had to learn in my many years as an on-and-off writer. No one likes to be bad at something. It’s uncomfortable and exposing. But we can’t fast-forward to the good bit without going through the awkward beginning we’ll one day cringe at.
Every expert was once a beginner. Every account started at zero. Every famous author once collected rejection letters as proof of their persistence. It’s a learning curve, and it’s so easy to feel like you’re behind where you should be, because guess what? You are. But the only way out (and yes, there is a way out) is through.
And just when you finally think you’re getting the hang of it, it all changes again. New formats, new platforms, new rules. (Remember when Instagram was just filtered photos of brunch? Ah, the good old days.) But we adapt and keep creating, because what else are we going to do? Give it all up and decide it’s not for us?
We could, sure… but then, who’s it for?
Before art is released, it acts as shelter for the artist. The whole world could be falling apart, and yet the stories we imagine somehow hold it together, keeping the debris of the day-to-day from cutting too deep into us. When we’re creating, we’re safe. It’s the one place where control feels possible. Plus, it feels damn good.
But once the art is out there, it stops being a refuge. It becomes something else entirely – a museum, maybe – where anyone can wander in, observe, critique, ignore, admire. We’re exposed. The world now has opinions about something that came from inside us, and that’s… unsettling at best, terrifying at worst.
But honestly? I’m starting to think it’s none of our business what those opinions are. Bad? To you. Cringy? Cool’s in the eye of the beholder. Meh? Frankly – meh right back at you.
Releasing your work is not the reward, because no matter how much positive feedback it receives, there’ll always be a few people in the back rolling their eyes, thinking it could’ve been an email. (I’m obviously not talking about a newsletter :) )
The act of making it is the reward. The messy, all-consuming, vulnerable process is the part we get to keep. The part that helps us grow. The part that allows us to see ourselves as artists, writers, makers, and creators. Which, if I may be a little bit Gen Z… is the whole point.
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve seen online goes something like this: if you’re not scared to release it – if you don’t feel at least a little embarrassed – then it probably wasn’t honest enough. Made you think?
Promoting yourself shouldn’t feel like walking naked through a crowd of clones of everyone who’s ever made you feel small, either. It should be a fun (and necessary) part of your creative life, something that leaves you feeling empowered, not drained and doubting your skills.
Artists tend to love their craft but often hate marketing. We don’t want to champion our work, because what if nobody sees it? What if we look stupid? What if too many people see it? All of our fears are valid. But none of that means we’re actually bad at marketing.
In fact, marketing is a deeply creative endeavour. There’s a reason so many of us creatives end up in it. Artists are kind of made for marketing. We know how to make others feel something. We know how to be provocative. We know how to suggest more than say. Artists know how to sell.
I used to think I was born to be a writer in the woods (then I moved to Italy and changed my mind about that) and hated the fact that I had to promote myself online. But the job of the artist has always been – and still is – to create something cool and to champion that something cool.
If you want your art to be seen, it’s your responsibility to show it to us. You can’t want someone else to do it when you made it. No matter who else is in your corner, you’ve got to be the first one to believe in it. If you don’t, why should anyone else?
So start messy – is what I’d say to my younger self, to a crowd, to you. Adjust along the way. But for now, write like no one’s watching (yet). Make the cringiest drafts possible. Because every word is a stepping stone towards your masterpiece.
Or, at the very least, towards your joy – which is equally as important as a masterpiece. It’s your life. Your joy. Your every day. Have fun with it. Who cares who’s watching?
And when you’re ready, champion your work loudly, proudly, and with the fierce love it deserves. The fierce love you deserve.
Anca x