Yes, I know. This is a weird title – kind of clickbaity sounding, perhaps. But I thought about it, and this really is the best way to describe the post I’m about to write. Because, odd as it may sound, I do think doubt is underrated. Some days – like today, for instance – I’d genuinely tell you it’s the most important part of my writing process.
Still there? Cool. Now, I get why doubt is unpopular. Much as I wax lyrical about it, it isn’t a nice thing. There are so many more desirable feelings involved in writing: that “this scene finally works” feeling, that “darn, that’s a good line” feeling, that “girl, you got this” feeling. But if I really analyse these feelings – these highs – I see that they never stand alone. Before I reach satisfaction, I unfailingly go through a period of intense doubt.
For years, I saw this doubt as something to be avoided. It was an unfortunate side-effect of my writing – it made me feel awful, it made me worry, it made me cry more than I’d care to admit.
What I never saw was the cause and effect. I never looked at those writerly highs and considered how doubt brought me to each one. Because while doubt stressed me out and used up all my tissues, it also prompted me to make changes. In my doubt, I questioned a hundred little plot points and character quirks. The first draft of my novel contained a super flat villain with no motivation. If I didn’t doubt this character arc, I never would have delved into his psyche – and if I never delved into his psyche, countless other details of the plot would have been lost. So much of the current draft is contingent on a few days of serious doubt.
Doubt helps me in the wider plotting, but also in the minutiae. It is doubt which leads me to frown at dialogue that doesn’t “ring true”. It makes me read sentences twice over, sensing something off in the cadence. Doubt tells me when a scene – or a line, or a word – is clunky. It is a sensor, an amber light that tells me “wait”. When I doubt, I know my story isn’t ready. And I know where the fixes need to be made.
Now, I realise that all sounds great. In practice, as I’m sure many of you know, doubt feels nothing like that. It can be, frankly, terrifying. When I first doubted the aformentioned novel, I realised I had to scrap half the book and build it back up from the midpoint. That is – to understate it wildly – an unpleasant discovery. Doubt can also be frustrating. There are scenes in the book I’ve picked at for years. Few things are worse than doing a whole rewrite only to doubt it again weeks later. Sometimes, I wish doubt had a physical form, so I could give it a piece of my mind.
So, while doubt may be the driving force behind revision, the feeling of it sucks. We’ve got to manage it, then. The way we respond to doubt as writers is absolutely crucial to producing quality work.
Anyway, I’ve made a list of tips. These help me (in theory), but I 100% do not follow them all the time. They are definitely “ideal world”, aspirational tips. If any of you ever get to the point where you can be totally at peace with doubt, let me know! I’ll get you a cake, or something.
With that disclaimer out the way, here are my tips:
- Be objective
If you ever find yourself hating your work, it’s worth asking why. This sounds so stupid, but it may literally just be exposure. That chapter you can’t stand: what other scene would you read ten times over every day for a week? If you hadn’t written it, it would not be so engrained in your mind. You may well hate it by virtue of overfamiliarity. So, get some distance. Set it aside, leave it for as long as you can. Then go back. That amorphous “doubt” feeling should have honed itself into something resembling a critique. - Be specific
This builds on the last one. If you find yourself thinking “this is trash” or “this whole thing’s a mess”, make yourself go deeper. What exactly is it that doesn’t work? What isn’t vibing? Try to identify words and sentences. Is it to do with the structure? Is the flow wrong? On a wider plot level, is a chapter unnecessary or bloated? Is a character going off the rails? Have they become redundant? - Save old drafts
If you’re going to make a big change, keep the existing version. Please. Earlier this year, doubt kindly directed me to a brand new issue in my novel’s structure. I saw two potential “fixes”: cutting the problematic element or expanding it, till it had the weight I’d first intended. After talking it through with a beta reader, I decided to explore both avenues. I copied my most recent draft and played around with two new versions. Ultimately, I am now happy with one of the two – but that’s not a given. In the past, I’ve cut scenes then wanted them back. I’ve cut characters and later used aspects of their personality/backstory to flesh out another. I’ve written lines that I liked, but weren’t serving their scene. In all these cases, keeping old drafts has been a lifesaver. Also, it’s nice to look back and see how far you’ve come! Bearing that point in mind – and double-clicking the save button… - Be brutal
If you have the original, there’s nothing to lose in going wild. Cut away. Change everything. If you don’t like it, rework it. The old version is safe for if and when you need it again. - Respect your past self
If you read a scene and loved it yesterday, remember that when you hate on it today. Has your perspective really changed that much? Even if you loved it last week or last month, it’s worth thinking about. Refer to the first point – were you failing to be objective then? Or now? - Think about the way you read your work
Sometimes, something as simple as ambience can affect your feelings about a scene. When I’ve got the right playlist running, my writing often sounds great. With no music, the same scene is flipping clunky. Because of this, I always read it through with no background noise before declaring anything “finished”. I also read it aloud once and then in my head. It needs to sound right both times!
Finally, and most importantly… - Avoid “I” statements
No matter how hard you’re doubting, please, please do not doubt yourself. It’s so easy to say “I suck”, to think “I can’t do this”. When that kind of doubt comes knocking, don’t let it in. It’s not speaking truth, and it’s not being constructive. Doubting what you already have can be healthy – but only if you’re confident about what is to come. Here’s some truth for you: no matter how far your story seems from where you want it to be, you can get it there. Please always remember that. You can do this. It’s a matter of identifying areas of growth. The process never ends. That can be hard to deal with – you are constantly improving as a writer, in a fluid way. This doesn’t lend itself to the idea of “finishing” a story. I mean, it could always get better, right? But, at some point, you’ve got to call it done. So once you’ve brushed off the worst of the doubts – once you’ve stopped seeing identifiable issues – go ahead and write “The End” (metaphorically – or literally if that tickles your pickle, you do you).
When I was a kid, I rarely wrote my stories down. When I did, I never revised them, I never edited – I wrote them all once, read them to my brother, then filed them away. That was before I doubted. In those days, the words sprung from my fingers to the keyboard fully polished (or so I thought). I never considered for a minute that I needed to change anything. There’s a fun to that, a purity. But learning to rewrite was key to my development. And doubt has played an enormous role in that.
So when you doubt, don’t shy away from it. Yes, it’s annoying. Yes, it might be painful. But doubt is a necessary evil. It will likely ruin your day – chances are, though, you’ll thank it later.
On that note, I’ll bid you farewell. And remember: that thing you’re doubting right now? You CAN fix it.
Lots of love and happy writing!
Zoe
