Writing When Confidence Is Gone
By JM Shaw
Sometimes writing comes easily, and the words flow without resistance. Other times, our confidence is lacking, and writing becomes torturous—passion turned punishment.
Certainty in ourselves and our work is a fleeting gift, waxing and waning like the tides. Sometimes it vanishes for weeks, months, or even years, and its return seldom coincides with a writer’s ever-present desire to create. This poison we call doubt proclaims us failures. It whispers to us from our subconscious, like a shadow breathing half-truths about our place in the world at large, where judgment is quick, and praise is rare. It speaks the language of our ingrained fears—in our own voice nonetheless—while we struggle to deny the verity of our own beliefs.
The erosion of our confidence might happen quietly or quickly, but it will happen. Every author who shares their work opens themselves to scrutiny, and the loudest speaker of all is our inner critic—comparing ourselves to others, internalizing every bad review while ignoring affirmations.
The absence of confidence is stifling, like walking through a dark room, groping the unseen for the words to ground us as we second-guess every sentence. We wonder why we should consider ourselves comparable to other literary greats, whose polished prose has stamped their place in history. Whenever a writer dares to dream, fears betray them with visions of future humiliations, measuring their incompetence by harsh appraisals that have not yet happened.
Most creators, however skillful, will eventually succumb to doubt—stuck in their own heads as that still small voice urges them to give up. This is where the fight becomes hardest, where the weight of expectation eclipses the joy of writing. Few things are more terrifying than pouring our hearts, minds, and souls into a written work and sending it out to be judged. Every harsh word cuts to the core, sinking deeper until it becomes our truth. Doubt screams, and we listen, and soon, each page becomes a burden, every unfinished sentence is evidence of our inadequacy rather than a part of the process.
But we endure.
We are writers, after all. It is the who and what of our existence, and we cannot help ourselves. What keeps us going is hope. Hope that we can become better—not brilliant, but something more. We cling to our faith that storytelling talent can be forged through persistence, and stopping now, after coming so far, would be worse than continuing despite the doubt. We live for our rough drafts, finding freedom in the knowledge that no one is watching us, and we have not yet failed.
In these moments, writing is not about excellence. It is expressive freedom. We are, in essence, incarnating our thoughts and feelings into living words. This is where confidence resides, where trust meets clarity. Where conviction is born in the knowledge that what we create now is not yet complete, and imperfections are allowed. It is this stage writers crave, where inspiration waits, and the voice of doubt has no power because we are still creating. The surety we find here fuels us for the drought that is to come.
It is not writing that is our struggle—it is sharing. The moment we move beyond our first drafts, our confidence wavers, and creative writing becomes an act of defiance. Not against critics or the industry, but against our internal voice that insists we are not good enough.
It is tempting to give up on our dreams before we have even started. Do not be fooled. That voice we hear is older than time, having spoken to every creature across the ages, at one time or another. But I will tell you a secret—it is only powerful if we choose to listen. And if the great writers of their time could ignore it, so can you.
J. M. Shaw is a Canadian author of fantasy fiction who lives in Alberta with her husband and two young children. She’s been writing since childhood, building worlds from raw imagination and quiet observation, but it took years before she found the courage to share them. For Shaw, storytelling has always been more than a passion. It’s a compass. A sanctuary. A way to make sense of the chaos.
In 2019, Shaw was diagnosed with autism and ADHD, a turning point that brought clarity to a lifetime of feeling “too much” or “too different.” Her intense focus, emotional depth, and ability to live inside fictional worlds became not flaws but the superpowers of a neurodivergent mind. These qualities shape her stories, infusing them with realism, heart, and meaning, and giving her the courage to finally share her creative works. Her worlds may be fantastical, but her characters—flawed, searching, and deeply human—resonate on a personal level.
When she’s not writing, Shaw enjoys connecting with nature, curling up with a good book, and dreaming up new worlds. She also finds joy in encouraging young writers to pursue their own passions.
For more information: www.jmshawauthor.com