I’ve spent the better part of the last two years talking to writers all over the world just like you.

I’ve learned about you. What you want, crave – and what you hate.

Every one of you has a different definition of success. How it looks and feels. How your perfect day unfolds.

But one thing always stays the same: The only thing between you and your writing dream is fear.

So let’s get down and dirty with it, hmmm?

Fear is fucking normal. Yeah, I said it. We will never escape the emotion. Not ever.

And that’s okay.

Some people actually choose to do things that scare them: racecar drivers, public speakers, sky-divers. And some people only face their fears when forced. (Me.)

Either way, being fearless has nothing to do with it.

Fear is with me and you and everyone else every day. Trying something new, pushing yourself can be scary. No one is unafraid all the time.

But we can manage it with our perception.

It’s about desire.

How bad do you want a thing? How much are you willing to risk to accomplish it?

When you’re on your deathbed at 96 years old, do you want to look at your great-grandson and say:

“Yeah, I went sky-diving a couple times. It was badass.”

Or “Yes, I wrote those books. I had a story to tell that the world needed to hear.”

Or even “I wish you could have seen me on the high-wire. I set a record that day.”

Or, if you’re like me, you just want to be able to call your ex-boyfriend and say, “I went into that damn root cellar and killed a wolf spider the size of my fist. So there.”

Understand, no one can completely eliminate risk. Stunt men and adrenaline junkies know this, which is why they do their best to reduce it. They wear every available piece of safety equipment. They double and triple check the racecar. They take classes.

The same goes for public speakers. They know the material so well, the audience won’t be able to come up with a question they can’t answer. They practice endlessly. Speaking in front of people is not scary in the same way as, say, swimming with sharks.

But it’s still very real fear. And it’s not dissimilar to the fear of writing.

In both cases, what we’re actually afraid of is looking silly. (That’s pretty much every human’s most basic fear.) But by practicing, preparing, studying, we reduce that risk. Besides, if we screw up writing, we’re not going to die. So decide.

Do you want to write?

Mitigate the risks as much as you can. Then take action. No one has a choice about fear. We are going to be afraid. But we can decide what to do about it.

This is good news. It means you can stop waiting to be unafraid and start writing.

It means you can feel uncomfortable, know it’s normal and get your words on the page in spite of the fear.

Not sure where to start?

Answer this question: What would you write if you knew you could not fail?

Now off you go. Write now.

***

P.S. What kind of writer are you? Take the quiz and find out. (And wait ’til you see what you get in your inbox with the results. Holy gorgeous.)

I once had a crazy boss who taught me about editing.

He went on to become a millionaire by designing pizza boxes. I am not kidding.

The man did this to fund his writing habit. And just like all twenty-somethings with far too much money, he blew through it and filed bankruptcy later. Then he rebuilt his career with another looney invention.

I learned several things about passion and perseverance from him. Lucky for me, he also taught me these three easy-to-follow editing tips.

No editing during your first draft

Let it go and flow or whatever else Elsa and the Beastie Boys told you. That’s right, if you’re still writing your first draft, you shouldn’t edit. Period.

Editing while creating makes you ineffective at both. Since originality (writing) and logic (editing) come from opposite sides of your brain, trying to use both at once is only causing your left and right brain to fight each other. It makes both sides weaker and your job harder. Instead of creating another epic man-versus-self battle, force yourself to leave the editing to the second round.

Speak your words back to yourself

Reading sections of your writing out loud will help you locate workable sentences.

Yes, it seems awkward and silly, but it works. A general rule of thumb: if you can’t get through a sentence without stumbling or pausing to figure out how something should be said, your reader isn’t going to be able to either.

At my first ghostwriting gig, my editor – the owner of the company – made us read to him what he didn’t understand. More often than not, that ended with me stumbling in the places he also stumbled, indicating I needed to clarify a certain section or add a comma somewhere else.

At first I thought he was a whack job. Then he made me do this exact practice, reading aloud everything he made me revise. It sucked at first. I was embarrassed.

Once I got over it and realized I could do this on my own, before old-man-boss was able to get to my work, I did it before submitting assignments.

And holy hell, it worked.

Cut it out

Longer sentences do not mean better ones.

You can play with sentence length. And yes, some longer sentences are absolutely fine. But they become a problem when you’re only using them to prove your worth. What’s more important? Your ability to put together a perfect, complex and super lengthy sentence or your audiences’ desire to keep reading? Don’t kill engagement to stroke your ego.

The crazy boss also made us revise every sentence longer than fifteen words.

After reading them aloud, I learned it was hard to follow content when strung together by conjunctions and commas. The sentences were structurally correct. But I couldn’t remember the beginning by the time I reached the end. Since I wanted to write memorable material, I sucked up my pride and followed his rule.

And holy hell, it worked again.

Bottom line? My old boss was a crazy genius.

Even though I still think he was straightjacket material, I became a better writer because of him.

***

Got writing questions for Capo? Email capo@rebeccatdickson.com. Confessions of a Dirty Blonde goes out every Thursday.