Let me forgive myself for the stories that are not perfect,

for the scenes rushed through and the plot points fumbled,

and the language less than it ought to be,

and the phrases that make me wince,

even though no one notices but me.

Let me forgive myself for the stories I didn’t write,

didn’t finish, or didn’t let anyone see-

because I was living my life, or saving my life,

because I was falling in love, or falling out of love,

because I had run out of words, or room, or time,

let me forgive myself for all those stories

that live inside me

and not on the page.

Let me forgive myself for my failures, but also

for all those times when I tallied my shortcomings

instead of celebrating each small success.

Let me celebrate now:

not the life that I dreamed of, but the life that I have,

not the stories that I dreamed of, but the stories that I’ve made,

not the writer I imagined I’d one day be, but the writer that I am.

And then let me keep working

                                                      – Terri Windling

Someone I respect posted this a while ago, and I’ve wanted to include it here for some time.  I’ve read it dozens of times since seeing it.  I look at it as a sort of Serenity Prayer for writers.

Writing is largely a solitary endeavor, and as such it is far too easy to be penned in (pun intended) by our own minds.  We are our harshest critics after all, and that means not only of our work, but of ourselves.  Seeing the promotions and the successes of others in our chosen profession can make us jealous, envious, mad, and depressed if we let it.  

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, Mark Manson mentions that we’re constantly bombard in today’s wired world of success stories, of once in a lifetime winners, of instant stardom, of perfect bodies and perfect lives.  Because of this, we can feel like we’re behind, not on schedule, and failures.  He also points out that this is a false narrative.  There are plenty of people failing or just “getting by” every day that we’re not hearing about.  So, it’s pointless to compare ourselves to other people.

Instead, I would like us to take a moment to re-read Terri Windling’s advice.  Go ahead.  I’ll do it with you.

There are going to be times, because of want or wane, that we will not be able to write.  That the stories on the page must stop so that the story of us can reach the end of a chapter, or the beginning of a new one.  And that’s okay.  Really.  Honest.  The story of the suffering, or starving, artist sounds romantic, until it’s you who’s suffering or starving.  

I’m not telling you to quit.  I would never do that.  But if there are times when you can’t, well, that’s how life goes sometimes.  And, again, that’s okay.  It may be a day, a week, a month, a year, maybe even a couple years, but take the time to live, take the time to take care of yourself.  I promise the words, the characters, the stories will all be waiting for you when you come back.  You might even find you’ve become a better writer too.

Take care of yourself, and be well.