Writing After a Few Misses Seems to Get Tougher With Time

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been here before or how many inspirational articles I’ve read about the extremely special benefits of writing every day.

The hollowness in my chest, the pit inside my stomach, and the massive throbbing self-doubt telling me that I don’t know what I am doing are as impactful and omnipresent as ever.

I would like to think that I’ve grown. That I’ve taken the time to process my negative feelings of loss, pain, and disappointment.

That I’ve figured a few solutions out over time.

Taking a break, stepping away from all this, and reminding myself with the “Why” of what I do works almost always. So does getting inspired by creative masterpieces by other artists in all shapes and forms.

At times you just need that one song, picture, or your own piece of writing to remind you of all things beautiful and prompt you to get right back to it. But, sometimes, nothing works—nothing makes a lasting impression.

I have my idea store right beside me. A few of them reach out to me, coaxing me to spend time with them, nurture them and grow them into complete pieces of work. I do want to work, I am motivated enough, and technically I can’t say that I am blocked in any way.

But my bitter past — my recent history presented so accurately by my dismal stats pages is also a simple click away, and I can’t seem to stop myself from watching that train wreck over and over again.

In the last two months, I’ve had eight pieces severely, consecutively underperform. Not by others’ standards, as I don’t compare myself with them and wouldn’t even know where to start, but just of my own.

After spending some time on the internet by writing on diverse topics, you do get a handle on things. Fewer futile expectations are set before hitting that green button, and your stomach flutters less and less in anticipation for the first three days while trying to ascertain the win/loss status.

The cautious part of my mind makes realistic predictions based on my own past performances, and I let myself believe that I can use that as a baseline. I tell myself that I am creating to create something for myself, and everything else is extra.

I remind myself of the wise words of those before me, who tell me, repeatedly, that things here are often utterly unpredictable.

And it works for a while.

After repeated failure, though, positive thoughts are difficult to gather and accumulate. Nothing makes much sense anymore, and it’s just extremely hard to get over it, only to get back here again.

Writing something, knowing full well that it might fail, especially by my tiny standards, hurts. Also knowing — always knowing at the back of my head that it’s nothing compared to others.

I’ve been consistently 5 dollars every month, and still, there are times where I am anxious around the 25th, worrying that this measly goal will not be met.

Just not enough “read time,” you know. I know that I am not great, I still consider myself a beginner of sorts, but I do work extremely hard for each piece I write. Sometimes for days and nights at a time.

Receiving little to nothing in return for it isn’t an easy pill to swallow, however necessary it might be. And rationalizing it or being mature about this doesn’t help dilute the pain.

I know the topics that do well. The pieces that are received slightly better than the others. That point of intersection between my interests and those of my readers. Whenever one kicks off, I get quite the high off it.

For days after its hit run, I fought the urge to write similar articles. One after another, I kept getting ideas for my next relatable write-up, so I could continue riding the high.

I won’t be paying any heed to them, as I’ve been here before. The feeling of disappointment that comes after writing a piece that is not 100% from my heart is a thousand times worse than what I am dealing with right now.

I create for myself, share stories that I absolutely want to, and I write like no one’s reading. If I don’t have this, then I don’t have anything, and I cannot compromise my ideals.

And we are back to square one again.

At times I’m this close to giving up. I feel lost, like no matter what I do, it won’t be read or enjoyed by even a few people. Like it won’t make a difference at all. The world before and after I published my piece is still the same.

So why should I write again?

Yet when I spend some time away, I miss it — all of it, the ups and downs, the drama, the tears, the joy of creating something from nothing, everything.

I don’t know why or what pulled me up this time, but I want to try again. I open my monthly calendar, switch some stuff around and stare at my goals. I feel it, the rush to go ride this roller coaster— to write again. And I really really want to.

But that’s easier said than done.

Today I had absolutely no idea what to write about. Every thought I had, failed to take flight. It was either too small or too big. Something I am not ready for or a concept that makes me feel like a sell-out. I simply couldn’t settle on anything. And when I did, I couldn’t get started.

Pouring my heart out over a topic very close to me, knowing very well that it won’t do well. Because it has never done well. I thought it was great every time, and so did the editor who published it but not many here seemed to agree. They were all misses.

So instead, I decided to write about what I am feeling right now. I am going to attend to the other topic/s tomorrow. Today, I am going to share how it feels like to write my sixth consecutive miss.

I will talk about an issue that’s weirdly uncommon here, given the passionate bunch we are. I have too been discouraged from “complaining” before and encouraged to just go write again.

Well, If I wanted to spend my life listening to other people and their unsolicited advice, I wouldn’t be here, would I?

I’m not complaining. I don’t have anything against the platforms I use or my readers or the people who passed over my piece. I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve received, for the ability to publish something so easily, and especially for the kind souls who actually kind of like my work.

But that doesn’t stop me from feeling how I am feeling right now.

And I will let this feeling sit for a while before I let it out and move past it, this time. See you on the other side.