It’s Friday again. Which means another post about writing. (Yes, I know I missed last week. Trust me, I was juggling other chainsaws.) Right now I’m at the end of an all-night editing session, so bear with me if I ramble a bit, but I had this all in my head before I tried (and failed) to go to sleep last night. So hopefully it will come out coherent.

Are there any new writers in the audience? Young writers, or those who are just starting out? Come a little closer and sit down in front, you guys. This one’s for you.

Welcome to writing. It’s a hard job. I think it’s one of the best jobs in the world. But it is so easy to be blown off-course.

There are a lot of reasons why you’ll tell yourself you can’t write. There’s the I Don’t Have Time reason. There’s the I’m Not Good Enough Yet reason. There’s the Everyone Will Laugh At Me And I’ll Only Be Rejected Anyway reason. There’s the Words Never Come Out Like I Want Them To reason. And millions, billions more.

There is one thing I want to tell you about, something absolutely critical to a writer.

It’s the ability to give the whole bloody world the finger. You know which one I’m talking about. That finger.

Look, this is not an easy job. But it can be done. You just won’t get anywhere if you let any of those naysaying voices, whether they’re in your head or coming from someone else’s mouth, stop you. Lean in, guys. I want to tell you something important.

It is a thousand times better to write something crappy than not to write at all.

I am deadly serious. The worst bit of talentless dreck full of “that”s and passive verbs is better than shooting yourself in the foot before the race is even started. It doesn’t matter WHAT you write. It matters only THAT you write.

I’ve had a couple teachers tell me they have their students read my writing posts. (I’m honored, by the way.) Hello, kids. It’s good to have you along. Here’s the one thing I want to tell you: Don’t you ever, EVER let anyone stop you from writing. Go ahead and feel afraid–it’s okay to be scared. (The power to transform the world is incredibly frightening, isn’t it?) Let that fear drive you to say the things that need to be said. Let it be fuel. Keep writing. Just keep your fingers on the keyboard, keep the pencil on the paper. It will all turn out fine, I promise. I swear.

Just keep writing.

Look, a work doesn’t have to be perfect. If a perfect novel was ever written the universe would probably implode from the antimatter or something. We are imperfect beings in an imperfect world. Just get the writing done. Get the work out on the table, and then you can cut it up and edit it and prettify it. First, as a very wise writer once told me, you write the goddamn novel. Then you worry about everything else.

A lot of new writers think they have to edit and polish as the damn thing is coming out of their heads. As you get better at writing a lot of editing will go on in-process. But often, new writers will fall into the trap of second-guessing every word, and they get frustrated. Nothing comes out right. The words just won’t do what they want.

And they quit.

You don’t have to get that frustrated. Focus on getting the work out first. There’s plenty of time for revisions. Believe me, you’ll revise the damn thing so much you’ll be sick of it. Have fun and don’t sweat while you’re actually writing it, at least.

And then there’s that other reason to quit: other people. Or other people’s voices in your head, saying You can’t do that! You can’t SAY that! This is horrible! Who do you think you are, anyway? Everyone’s going to laugh at you!

I call that little voice the Internal Censor. And it’s hard not to be so self-critical that it seems safer to just let the blank page lie there. It’s hard to push those voices aside. It’s achingly hard to believe that you have a story that needs to be told when the world seems designed to tell you you’re insignificant. And young writers have the hardest time of all, sometimes, because they haven’t developed that sense of proportion yet–the one that tells them, however faintly, that the self-critical voices are full of horsepuckey.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. The sense of proportion doesn’t get louder when you get older. Sometimes you just learn to listen to it, that’s all.

If you can, if it will help, give those nasty voices the old finger. Tell them to eff off. You have a right to write. You further have the right to write whatever the hell you please. So it’s not Shakespeare or Chekhov or the famous Great American Novel. So what? Every word you put down, every day you’re at the keyboard or holding the pencil, is better than a day of being too afraid to do it.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t have the right to write. If you love writing, if it burns in your soul like a rocket, even if you just enjoy it and feel compelled to do it, you have a right to write. Don’t stop because that naysaying little voice in your head tells you it’s not good enough. Don’t stop because Aunt Martha would be so embarrassed if she knew you were writing THIS! Don’t, at bottom, write for anyone else.

Hey. Psst. Lean in just a little closer, because I’m going to whisper. This is Sooper-Sekrit.

Write to please yourself. Write what you want to read. Write what makes you feel good. Write what makes you tingly. Write in any genre you damn well please. Write cross-genre. Write about whatever you want to.

Yes, yes, you do have to worry about grammar and structure and story and characterization and making your work readable. That’s why this is an art, that’s why this is work. But at the heart of this work is joy. If you write what you love, what pleases you, your work will have a ring to it. It’s like fine crystal. It sings. Even if it’s sloppy. Craft can be learned. With enough patience and persistence you can learn when to dangle your participles and cleft your gerunds. You can learn the rules, and they will help you.

But the joy, it’s a gift. Don’t throw it back in the Universe’s face by writing something you hate or writing what you think you should, or what someone will Approve Of. Write whatever makes you happy. Put that pen to the paper, put that pedal to the medal, lay down some tire-rubber and streak for the horizon. Race to beat the Devil. Do it because it feels good and it’s what you want to do.

Those voices always come back. I don’t think I’ve ever met a single writer who didn’t have them in his or her head. Get practiced at telling them to sod off. Learn to distinguish those voices from honest critique or emotional blackmail. Critique you can accept gracefully, blackmail and drama-queening you can walk away from.

But the self-critical voices? You can just give them the finger. Yes, that finger. Tell them to #%$& off.

If nothing else, it’s tremendously satisfying. And in this line of work, we take our satisfaction where we find it. All right? You dig?

Now. Go write what you love. Don’t let anyone stop you. Laugh in the face of that fear, even if your heart is cold and your knees are knocking. Go set fire to the words you were given to write, the words only you can say.

Go out there and give ‘em hell.