Writing as Craft, Writing as Liberation

Writing — both a craft and an art — liberates the soul. But it also makes my head hurt.

I have no idea how other writers do this, but before I fall asleep, I find myself spinning scenes in my head. I think about what’s next in my story — what my characters will do and how they’ll do it. These nighttime imaginings are how The Rise of the God of War, my grimdark fantasy novel, was born. For months — six of them, though it felt like a decade — I lay in bed with the first scene echoing in my head. Eventually, I started writing.

I had never written anything longer than a few thousand words. The idea of a full-length novel — 100,000 words or more — was daunting. Even as I write this, I still wonder if the words are good enough. The idea of someone reading my book, whether for feedback or enjoyment, often feels ludicrous. Why would they?

And yet, I wrote. Slowly at first. Bits and pieces. Then, something clicked. I sat down and poured it out — 110,000 words over a few months. I had done it. I had written a book.

Then came my first test reader. Notes. Critiques. I got defensive. My second reader offered more. I realized something essential: I wasn’t done. In fact, I didn’t even fully understand the process I had entered.

So I stepped away. Life got busy — work, career, all the usual distractions. For six years, the novel sat quietly. I poked at it now and then, made small edits, wrote the occasional scene. But if I’m honest, I did nothing.

The truth? I was scared. Still am. Fear has always been the loudest voice in the room — fear of rejection, fear of being mediocre, fear of putting in all the effort and getting nothing back. That no one would care. Or worse, that they would — and find it lacking.

The other problem was belief. Or the lack of it. I had no solid evidence that I could do this. Not really. Sure, college professors gave glowing reviews of my essays. Sure, test readers gave positive feedback. But I discounted all of it. Ignored the evidence — because that’s what fear tells us to do.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: I’m not trying to be the greatest novelist in the history of storytellers. I just want to give shape to the ideas that live inside my head — to let others walk through the world I’ve created.

If there’s a moral to this story, it’s this: if you write, write. If you paint, paint. If you fix cars, get out the wrench. Don’t let the fear of finishing stop you from starting. We’ve all heard that the worst thing someone can say is “no.” But that’s not true. The worst thing we can hear is nothing at all — because we never dared to try.