Waiting to Be Ready is a Fool’s Errand. Signed, A Fool.

There’s a particular kind of quiet that shows up before writing. The cursor blinks. The page stays blank. Our heads fill with half-formed ideas that feel important but slippery—like if we move too fast, they’ll disappear. So you wait. I believed this. I was wrong. Here’s what I learned.

You tell yourself you’re still figuring out the story. That you only need a little more clarity, a little more confidence, a better sense of what the story actually is. Maybe you'll write tomorrow. Once it all clicks.

But here’s the truth most writers eventually run into:

Even with all the prep—after you've written the synopsis, the beat sheet, the logline, even after a full treatment—your story still won't be perfect. In fact, you won’t know your story until AFTER you've written your first draft. If then.

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We all struggle to write, not because we lack ideas, but because we believe understanding should come first. So we plan. We research. We think about writing instead of doing it. It feels responsible. Safe.

Most of the time, it’s just fear in disguise.

Fear of writing something bad. Fear of realizing we don’t know as much as we hoped. Fear of putting something imperfect on the page. We stand at the edge of the pool studying the water.

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.

Get a nudge

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Waiting doesn’t make writing, or anything, easier. It adds weight. The first sentence starts to feel like a verdict. The blank page becomes something you’re afraid to disappoint.

All those great ideas in your head? They don’t get clearer—they get tangled. What once was clear becomes chaos. You wonder if you’re actually a writer, or just someone who wants to be one.

Writing doesn’t work like studying. It works like swimming. You learn to swim by jumping into the water, not by studying it.

Now, full disclosure time: I have never actually learned to swim. I’m a writer. This is a writer-y anecdote only. I don’t mind flailing with words, but swallowing water did me wrong at a young age. I’ll get over it one day. Just not yet. I'm sticking with words.

So, yes, I know standing on the sidelines feels safer. Just like I know it doesn’t teach you anything.

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Here's the shift that changes everything:

Clarity is not the prerequisite for writing. Writing is the prerequisite for clarity.

Even if you write through every step I mentioned above—and they will help you uncover more of your story, like peeling an onion—by the time you finish your first draft, your story will surprise you. It's inevitable. All that preparation gives you the tools to have a better conversation with the story as it talks back. Take notes. Listen. Let it teach you.

You don’t find your voice before you write—you find it by writing. The mess isn’t a failure of process. The mess is the process.

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Here’s the simple, uncomfortable truth:

Yep, them's my parents. I take them writing with me when they visit because I'm fun.

Start.

Then, stay consistent.

Those are the only two real hurdles to achieving any dream. Every step forward is a win.

If you’re stuck right now—on a story, a script, a recipe, a goal, or something you haven’t quite named yet—consider this permission.

See you at the event in your honor.

If you want reminders like this—honest writing advice, screenwriting tips, and encouragement to start your first draft—follow my newsletter.

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