CRW 3013 – Creative Writing for English Majors
This creative nonfiction piece reflects on writing anxiety, process, fear, and the unexpected bravery it takes to call yourself a writer. It represents early steps in discovering my voice as a returning student.
I’m never sure if pieces like this count as fiction or creative nonfiction. What I do know is that every time I take a creative writing class, I hit a wall. I stare at a blank page for hours, trying to write my way out of an invisible box, and eventually fall back into this blog-style voice that feels both comforting and frustrating. I keep thinking there must be a secret to writing—something everyone else seems to know, and somehow, I missed the memo.
I’ve read countless articles and craft books about how to “become” a writer. Most of them circle back to the same advice: just sit down and write. None of them talk honestly about the paralysis that comes with choosing an idea, or the fear of starting something you’re not sure you can finish. Over the summer, I tried writing prompts and even challenged myself to write 500 words a day. I did it twice. Everything I wrote drifted back to this same open-letter, rambling style. It’s familiar, but I don’t want it to be the only thing I know how to do. I want to grow. I want to be better than this version of myself who keeps circling the drain of self-doubt.
Still, there’s a part of me that dreams big. I’d love to write a novel someday. I have the beginning of one—a story my friends swear is strong and worth pursuing. I wrote ten pages in a burst of bravery, fell in love with the world and its characters, and then froze. Those pages have been sitting on my hard drive for years. When I finally got bold enough to share them with friends, they were encouraging. And yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to continue. I convinced myself that “real writers” outline. That if I didn’t plan everything perfectly, the story wouldn’t be good enough.
If I used this week’s prompt literally, the two characters here would be me and the kind of mentor who understands the struggle—someone who has walked through the same fog of uncertainty. I’d admit that I’m still searching for the secret to writing, and I’d ask them outright what it is. But I suspect the answer isn’t as mystical as I once believed.
As I sit here, rereading what I’ve written, I think the secret might be something simple: bravery. The kind of bravery that lets you sit down—even when you’re tired, even when you’re scared you’ll fail—and put words on a page. Bravery to trust your instincts, even if your process looks different from everyone else’s. Bravery to let a draft be messy without trying to force it into perfection too early.
The secret to writing isn’t outlining or worldbuilding or creating the perfect character arc. It isn’t about knowing exactly where a story is going before you begin. It’s about showing up. It’s about being willing to write something—anything—and letting it surprise you. No rigid plans. No pressure to create an entire series in your head before you’re ready. Just writing, and seeing where the words lead.
Stephen King once tried to throw Carrie in the trash before it became his first novel. His wife pulled those pages out, handed them back, and gave him the nudge he needed to take a second look. That story has stayed with me. Not because I think I’m the next Stephen King, but because even someone like him needed a push to be brave enough to keep going.
I’ve spent so much time trying to find the right method, the right structure, the right way to prove to myself that I’m a “real” writer. But maybe my writing won’t come from rigid planning. Maybe my stories need room to breathe before they can take shape. Maybe the secret—for me—is to stop trying to fit a mold and instead listen to whatever voice shows up on the page.
This piece might not follow the prompt perfectly. It might not be the polished product I imagined earlier in the week. But it’s honest. And maybe that honesty is part of the secret, too. As I move through this semester, I’m hoping to keep uncovering what writing means for me, piece by piece. If I let myself be patient, trust my instincts, and stay brave, maybe the rest of the secret will reveal itself along the way.
