Afraid to Click “Publish”?

Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach

Whether it’s a blog post or a book, you take a risk every time your finger hovers over “publish” to make that blog post go live or “send” to email that query or manuscript to an editor.

It seemed like such a great idea when you sat down to write. And you want people to read it. But now you worry…

Will anybody read it?

Are people going to make fun of me?

Am I going to be criticized?

Your words might as well be your fragile, pulsing heart, cupped in your hand and held out to the world.

You close your eyes and hope for readers…even as you silently plead, “Please don’t crush it. Please don’t slash it into a million bits.”

A Universal Struggle

If you second-guess yourself each time you send your words into the world, you’re not alone. You’re feeling what writers throughout the ages have felt, because it is a risk each time you click “publish.” In fact, I’ve only met one writer who seemed to feel utterly confident.

I was at a writing retreat in a breakout session where someone asked the leader what to do when we second-guess our writing.

He stared at her for a moment. “Why would you second-guess your writing?”

I thought he was being sarcastic, because I assumed it was universally understood that writers second-guess themselves all the time. But he wasn’t being sarcastic.

The exchange happened years ago, so I can’t recall details, but I remember he couldn’t relate to that feeling at all. Instead, he implied that if we develop the craft of writing, we should have the tools to know what we’re doing and feel completely confident.

I was spittin’ mad. I personally knew the writer who posed the question. She risked being vulnerable with us and the leader. For him to shoot her down like she was weak and unskilled infuriated me. I knew her writing and her personality—she was a gifted writer, consistently vulnerable through her personal stories and reflections. Readers loved what she had to say.

The leader who answered her with condescension wasn’t vulnerable in the least. I wondered if his readers connected with his work?

Vulnerability Matters

Reactions like this cause us to hesitate opening up, but they also reinforce why vulnerability matters so much in writing.

Even if you’re viewed as an expert or thought leader handing down wisdom, your readers need to know they’re not alone. They need to see that you’ve struggled and still found a way forward. Whether you’re a writer who regularly reveals your ongoing messy life or you’re someone who seems to have “arrived,” your vulnerable stories offer hope.

In fact, maybe I haven’t been vulnerable enough about my journey for you to see my struggle—and my way forward? Maybe you haven’t heard how I first held out my fragile, pulsing heart to the world?

In my university’s creative writing department, I thought I’d write fiction but found my voice instead through poetry. Free verse provided a flexible framework to be vulnerable while telling it slant. It offered a way to explore the confusion of my childhood without revealing the details I was sorting through.

Most of the poems fulfilled class assignments while giving me a way to dive deeper. But I risked rejection when I submitted some to our university’s undergraduate literary journal. I dared to share a few that touched on the intersection of wonder and worry, sensitivity and shame.

Anne Lamott pushes us to:

“[W]rite to expose the unexposed…the writer’s job is to see what’s behind [that one door we’ve been told not to go through], to see the bleak unspeakable stuff, and to turn the unspeakable into words—not just into any words but if we can, into rhythm and blues” (p. 198, Bird by Bird).

Given my fragile heart, I was afraid of negative responses to these tender poems. They weren’t bleak or unspeakable, but they were my attempts to subtly turn pain into poetry. I wanted to risk sharing my truth, if obliquely, so with a little nudge from my instructor, I risked submitting a select few.

The journal contacted me and asked to publish four. Four.

One of my poems, called “Runaway,” featured a fictional speaker inspired by an Andrew Wyeth painting. It won top prize.

Nobody sent in hate mail, and my first attempts at vulnerability made me braver.

Years later, I came across an essay entitled, “The Singular First Person” by author, poet, and essayist Scott Russell Sanders. In it he explains:

“I choose to write about my experience not because it is mine, but because it seems to me a door through which others might pass” (p. 8, Earth Works).

I didn’t have his perspective then. I wish I did, because it would have helped me see that publishing my poetry invited others to see the open door and peer in.

Writing Creates Connection

Your vulnerable writing, too, creates a door through which others might pass. Your honesty creates connection. Your stories are what stick.

Post that blog draft. Submit that article. Send that newsletter.

Remember why you write in the first place—to inform, to help, to connect, to entertain. Even more, to “turn the unspeakable into words—not just into any words but if we can, into rhythm and blues.”

Don’t be afraid. Your readers are waiting for exactly what you have to offer.

What will you risk sharing today?

Try This Prompt

When that literary journal said my poems were accepted, they asked for a bio that included the reason I write. On a whim, I sent this: “I write because no one listens to me.” I guess I hoped humor would soften how I felt deep down. I wanted to tell the truth; I wanted to be a little bit vulnerable.

My reason for writing is much different today, but identifying my “why” for writing keeps me going when fear of being too vulnerable (or any fear!) sets in.

Knowing your “why” could help you keep going, too. Here’s a simple prompt to help you voice it:

I write because…

Be specific, and be honest. And if it’s not too personal, reach out and let me read your why.

Resources

• My Writing Life Beginnings, Pt. 1
• My Writing Life Beginnings, Pt. 2
• Your Writing as a Gift (includes the Scott Russell Sanders quote)
• What Lies Beneath the Surface of Your Life
• Use What’s Happened to You, to Shape Your Writing
• Let Life Inspire Your Next Great Piece