Why does trying feel inherently cringe?

Moonlighting as a struggling writer in my late 20s

Here’s a confession. Typing it makes me feel sick, but you’ll probably not really have any strong feelings about it either way: I have been quiet on Substack recently because I’ve been working on a novel.

Honestly. Reading the phrase I’ve been working on a novel back makes my face do the Florence Pugh upside-down curve frown. I’ve deleted and retyped it like, five times so far. Even now, I’m debating a version of this draft that gets the message across without telling anyone I’m literally writing a book.

Because — and here’s the thing — writing a book involves very proactively trying.

It involves spending time and effort (that quite literally nobody is asking you to spend) making up a story, drafting it bit by bit, editing it, perfecting it, coming up with neat little conclusions…. Etc. Cringe.

It also involves a certain amount of presumed arrogance; ‘Does she think anyone wants to read her novel?’‘Does she actually think she’ll get anywhere with it??’ ‘Does she want to be the next Sally Rooney???’ Also cringe.

Nobody is actually asking those questions, obviously. But even this time last year, just thinking about them would’ve had me beetroot with embarrassment, shouting “No, no, of course, no!!”

Now, it’s more like… I don’t know, maybe??

A lot of books get published. Publishers are always publishing. Why not publish one of mine? I’m not expecting to become a best-selling author, or anything (though I do practice book launch speeches on the reg). But I am trying to get over how downright cringe it all feels and just… write.

And I think you can apply this logic to any type of big dream or creative pursuit. Trying something big arguably always has the power to make a person feel their cringiest self.

It’s the reason kids who spent the last six months pouring over GSCE textbooks stand outside the exam hall and claim they ‘haven’t even revised’, or the reason people wait hours to reply to a text from someone they’re really into.

It’s scary to show people you’re putting the effort into something, because if it doesn’t pan out, they’ll know a) you really, really wanted it in the first place, and b) you’re actually just not good enough to get it.

However, it’s also worth noting, this is complete bollocks. We all know this, don’t we?

Trying is not cringe. Trying is actually really, really cool and impressive when you’re an adult.

I can’t think of one example where I’ve seen anyone trying their hardest at something — whether it’s work, a side hustle, starting a new hobby, or anything else — and have thought anything other than “that’s amazing.”

But it’s hard to apply that logic to yourself, isn’t it? Basically, my mantra is — trying is really, really cool, unless it’s me doing it.

And so, I’ll continue to make joke retching noises when I talk about my own creative writing. I’ll laugh nervously when I get nice feedback from the creative writing tutor of a course I willingly paid for and am trying to complete. I’ll finish every conversation about writing with “I know nothing’s ever really going to come from it though!!” just to make sure everyone knows I don’t have any ideas above my station — even though my book launch event speech is ready and waiting.

I often wonder if some of the authors I genuinely hold to the highest standards of coolness have also felt like this, or if they were born knowing everything they do is amazing. The likes of Ottessa Moshfegh. Cool. Marlowe Granados. Cool. Coco Mellors, so cool it hurts me.

I need to know, before they became established, was there ever a time where these unbelievably cool women felt like timid little wannabes, sat at their kitchen table alone, working on a debut nobody asked for? Were they as embarrassed talking about their dreams out loud as I apparently am? Please say yes.

I think a lot of how I feel comes down to age.

And before we get started, I’m 29. I’m not old, by any standards (and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise). But I think there’s a very small window when it’s cool and acceptable and encouraged to pursue your dreams. And I think that window probably closes somewhere around 25. After that it’s still cool and acceptable, obviously, but it’s definitely not as widely encouraged.

When you hit 26 or 27, it’s much more likely there’ll be an aunt or a cousin or a friend of a friend somewhere with a raised eyebrow, asking if you’ve thought about getting a proper job, at all?

And the thing is, I’m not throwing my career away to focus on writing. I’m not even stepping back slightly to focus on writing. All I’m doing is prioritising my own creative writing in a way I’ve been too scared to do before now. And genuinely, if 29 is the year I start to think of myself as someone who could be a writer, there are some upsides. For one, I have perspective now.

Yes, I’d probably be a lot more skilled and confident by now if I’d been pitching short stories for over a decade. I’d probably have a bigger network, and a much better grasp of publishing guidelines.

However, I know every version of who I was between the ages of 14 and 24, and not one of those versions of myself had anything profound to say, I promise you that.

Hats off to all the younger writers who are absolutely killing it. But I know if I’d been pitching as a teenager, I’d have a rejection list the length of my arm, and they’d all be for short stories about the same drummer from the year above who didn’t like me as much as I liked him.

The way I’m choosing to see it, is that if I have to spend my late twenties/early thirties getting all my terrible ideas and early drafts out of the way, at least I’m doing it with a fully developed pre-frontal cortex.

I also have the time and resources I didn’t have that then. At the time I was too busy working, studying, trying to get served without ID, and back-combing my side fringe to dedicate any real time to writing. Now, I have weekends. I have a lot of technical knowledge from years as a Content Writer that I can use — or ignore —when I need to. And I have a steady income.

All in all, I don’t think that’s a bad place to be.

Writing in pyjamas in my kitchen after a long day perfecting SEO landing pages and event mailers (without a cigarette or a stiff drink) might not seem like something Joan Didion ever did, but I bet she’d still be like, ‘good for you!’

And you know what, the world is really awful right now.I feel like it’s important to do things you like doing, even if it feels scary or overwhelming or cringe. I’m not usually one for calls to action in the comments — and in all honesty I’m not sure how many people will be reading this because I have NOT been playing the algorithm game recently — but I’d love love love you to share something you’re trying at, or want to try at. Whether it’s writing the book, recording a song, starting a podcast, baking and decorating cakes, drawing badly, drawing well, writing a blog, texting the guy, or whatever else.

Let’s all try hard at everything we do and cringe about it together.

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About The Content Girl:

Opinions, insights, and the occasional marketing musing from a professional Content Writer giving writing in her own voice a go. You can expect:

• Commentary on pop-culture/regular culture and the like

• Insights/tips/information around professional Content Writing/Marketing and Digital Marketing

• Personal essays (I’ll try to make these not insufferable, I swear)

• Book reviews, recommendations, and roundups

• The odd piece of flash fiction

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