Taming the Inner Critic: Excerpt from my book: A Friendly Guide to writing and ghostwriting
You’ve been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn't worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.
- - - Louise L. Hay
The inner critic shows up as a debasing, tricky voice that whispers negative judgments in your ear, taking great pains to coerce you into feeling badly about yourself. This demon inserts itself in all walks of life, but for me, it became especially loud when I was writing my first book, Awakening the Healer Within. I managed to make the journey from the couch to the computer every day, I felt good about that, but all the while, I was at war with an invisible enemy that knew my trigger points and was scheming to make me retreat. I fought him daily. He felt like a male to me, and I was working against a steady backdrop of, “Who do you think you are? You're no writer. You're going to be a dismal failure. You’ll never get published so stop wasting your time.”
I won the battle. I finished the book and after what felt like forever, I found a publisher. But battling demeaning voices every day is enough to discourage the most dedicated artist.
When I started writing my second book, a novel that had been forming in my mind for some time, I hoped my inner critic would take a rest. I’d already gotten one book published. That should have been enough to quiet him down, I figured, but no such luck. He had no regard for what I’d already accomplished. “You’re no novelist,” he said. “You’ll never get this published. You better stick with what you know.”
In her book, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J. K. Rowling describes a prison called Azkaban where there are no doors or locks. They don’t need them. They have “Dementors” as jailers, foul wraith-like creatures that float though the ethers, draining hope, peace and happiness from people, leaving them paralyzed with despair.
In my experience, the inner critic acts like a Dementor, casting a dark shadow and trying to undermine my wellbeing before I ever put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard. It yaks in my ear. It uses me as a whipping post and it’s hard to remember when that punishing voice wasn’t with me. I only know that it won’t shut up or go away as it attempts to break me down and steer me in the wrong direction. When I try to avoid it, it picks up steam and urges me to stop whatever I’m doing.
Here are some popular avoidance excuses that come straight from the bile of the inner critic:
1. I don't know what I want to say.
2. I don't have time to say it.
3. When I sit down to write, my mind goes blank. I’d rather water the plants or watch TV.
4. Whenever I feel like I’m making headway, my inner critic goes crazy on me.
5. My material has no value.
6. I refuse to show my work to anyone. I don’t want to humiliate myself.
7. I’ll just clean off my desk and start tomorrow.
8. If I write, it’ll be mediocre. I’d rather die.
Here are some statements to counter that voice:
1. I have a good idea and about what I want to say.
2. I have no deadline so I can take my time.
3. When I sit down to write, my mind is overflowing with possibilities.
4. Anything I write is a step forward.
5. My material is as important as anyone else’s.
6. I keep my work to myself until I decide to show it to someone who knows more than I do.
7. I keep my work space uncluttered so I can think clearly.
8. It doesn't matter if my writing is good or bad. I need to keep writing.
The mind can be a powerful and splendid ally. It can be a motivator, a planner and a supreme puzzle solver. But it’s not necessarily your friend. I was window shopping in West Hollywood one afternoon when I stopped in front of an ice cream parlor. I looked in the window and watched a server making a brownie sundae with hot fudge and whipped cream. It looked so good. Did I dare?
“Go ahead,” my inner voice encouraged. “Have that sundae. It’ll be delicious.”
“It’s bad for you,” another voice said.
“Life is hard,” the first one interrupted,” and you deserve a treat. What harm can one sundae do? You only live once. You can diet tomorrow.”
I debated the pros and cons. Remember those cartoons with an angel on someone’s right shoulder and a devil on the left, arguing with each other? Guess who won? I walked inside and ordered the dessert, dripping with hot fudge, topped with chocolate sprinkles. It tasted as good as I’d imagined, but when I was halfway through, the voice began singing a different tune. “You shouldn't be eating that. It’s unhealthy and it’s fattening. Throw the rest of it away. You made a big mistake. Now you're screwed.”
Writers with loud, persistent inner critics (isn't that all of us?) are faced with daily obstacles that make us question our right to call ourselves “writers.” And it doesn’t affect only beginners. Powerful successful artists have powerful noisy inner critics. I have a British friend who was writing comedy for the BBC. He was a wonderful writer, he’d had a slew of successes, he knew how to make anything sound funny, but he faced the same blocks and fears that the rest of us did. When he was visiting Los Angeles for a few weeks, he told me over lunch, “I wasn’t writing on my old laptop so I bought a new one. Now I’m not writing on two computers.”
Modernist author, Virginia Wolff of Mrs. Dalloway fame, believed that her books were surrounded by a circle of invisible censors whose sole purpose was to admonish her. She described her inner critic as “the angel in the house,” a female voice that ordered her to be less hostile and to placate men. She identified another critic that she called “The Spirit of the Age,” an elderly male voice that acted like a customs officer, checking and rechecking her writing for contraband.
In her bestselling book about writing, Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott says it helps to give her critic a recognizable face. Like Virginia Wolff, Ms. Lamott has identified two critics: One is a thin, pinch-faced teacher type and the other is the late novelist, William Burroughs.
When you find yourself unconsciously aligned with a voice inside that’s deriding you and shouting at you, it’s a good idea to take a step back, get curious, and watch yourself. There’s no getting rid of it, but like an annoying neighbor or a loud family member at your party, instead of trying to shoo it away, you have an opportunity to spot the ruse and transform yourself from victim to impartial observer. That’s a solid step on the path to self-acceptance.