I spoke virtually with a group of students in North Carolina this week, and when I got one of my usual canned responses about my writing routine, I found myself talking about it in a new way—in terms of confidence.
For a long time I’ve felt that my morning journaling builds momentum for the “real” work of fiction writing and revising (which it does!). But lately I’ve also been noticing that momentum, in this case, refers specifically to confidence—to my confidence in my own ability to write good sentences.
When I journal before I write, I get some of those bad sentences out of the way. It doesn’t mean I don’t still write bad sentences; it’s more that I trust myself to write better ones, and that trust becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I suspect this is why I tend to have more productive revision days when I start by reading earlier scenes that I feel to be in good shape. Eight solid pages followed by two garbage ones are a lot less disheartening to work on than ten garbage ones (see also: one sentence, then the next).
Maybe this is a reason that for some authors, their first book comes preternaturally while the second becomes a slog. When you’re naive to the full stakes of what you’re doing, you’re also naive to everything that could go wrong. Your confidence (or overconfidence) pushes you to try things beyond what you’re capable of; you take risks not knowing they’re risks.