Growing up I was told I wasn’t a reader. My sister was a reader and read serious literature. I on the other hand was not a reader because I didn’t read serious literature, (even though I did read and enjoyed reading) and still love to read. I may not have read every classic, or the top 50 books to read before you die, but I read. There was a hiatus for a period after university, but it picked up again and has continued ever since.
But being told something at a young age becomes part of one’s identity. I am not a reader. I am not a reader so therefore, the next logical step to me became “I cannot be a writer”. Yet it conflicted with everything I felt inside. I loved writing poems and short stories. I lived in my imagination and enjoyed nothing more than devising role play games for my friends involving monsters, spies, walkie talkies and adventures. Even now I write down endless ideas and visualise stories. I used to write a lot of poetry and even wrote a book, (which I have sent to a small number of literary agents, to no avail).
So, what prevents me pushing this dream?
This morning, I sat down with my coffee and bagel and Googled “why were there so many serial killers in the 70s and 80s”. I watched The Silence of the Lambs for the umpteenth time last night and it was something I wondered about. It took me to an article in the Harvard Gazette from August 2025 entitled “Why was Pacific Northwest home to so many serial killers?”. I read the article, added the book Murderland by Pulitzer Prize winning author Caroline Fraser to my wish list, and then checked out the other sections in The Harvard Gazette. I read an article on how to read a poem, and another article on pop culture of the 21st Century. Aren’t these internet rabbit holes brilliant fun?
I then saw a link to an article called “What karaoke taught Elizabeth McCracken about fiction”. Now, I love me a bit of karaoke, and I love fiction. I thought I’d better see what it was about and clicked the link. The excerpt was taken from a book by Elizabeth McCracken called “A Long Game” (also added to my wish list). Much of what was written in the article resonated with me and especially a quote highlighted within the article:
“I prefer failure to doubt. Doubt’s a wavering thing, never solid underfoot. It’s tough to launch from the bog of doubt. Failure is hard, motivating”
Elizabeth McCracken
And isn’t that true? She goes on to say how she swings from extremes of delusions of grandeur to self-loathing but the “quivering zone of uncertainty” is where she might be ok, or might not. “Quivering is movement without progress”.
I realise now I have been stuck in quivering mode and listening to those voices that lead me to doubt myself. “I am not a reader. I cannot be a writer.”
Early childhood influences have certainly impacted and helped form these unhelpful beliefs. My working class background and therefore my self-perceived limited register. The fact we were never taught grammar at school (it was the 80s and they removed it from the curriculum!). I don’t have a degree in English literature. I’m 50 with brain fog and keep forgetting the simplest of words. I am not a reader. The voices and reasons to doubt myself are endless.
Yet I have had a few successes, in those moments of extreme, where failure is not feared and perhaps delusion pushes me forward. I do have poems published in anthologies, I have performed my written work in public, I have thrown myself into workshops and groups.
Reading about artists and writers inspires me to push through the debilitating doubts. I think watching an old familiar film last night was part of the pattern where I attempt to reignite my memories and beliefs in the person I was before the voices started and I got stuck in the “bog of doubt”.
I did send my book to another literary agent the other day. I may very well fail, but simply preparing the submission and re-reading my story reminded me of the enjoyment I get from sitting down, drifting off into my imagination and writing down whatever flows from that magical place in my mind.
So, thank you Silence of the Lambs, thank you internet rabbit holes and thank you karaoke and Elizabeth McCracken. For now, the voices are quiet.
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