By Jill Nagle

Arrogance has a bad rap. We think of arrogant people as unpleasant to be around, full of themselves, and incapable of taking an interest in anyone else. However, when applied to one’s own writing, a certain measure of well-placed arrogance can be a useful tool.

Writing can be a scary enterprise. The writer puts herself out for public scrutiny in a way most other artists and professionals do not. When writer publishes, she commits herself to words she’s written for rest of her life. Even if she changes her mind about what she’s said, others may still react to piece decades after it first appears in print. This can make even act of putting pen to paper (or more likely, fingers to keyboard) an anxiety-producing ordeal.

Then there is schooling most of us received, which treated writing as a chore rewarded when well done or punished when poorly done, as opposed to a pleasurable activity for ourselves and our readers. Very few of us had any audience for any writing we did in classrooms, other than teachers who instructed, criticized and graded us. It’s no wonder most writers suffer from self-doubt rather than overconfidence. We tend to underestimate ourselves and our words, even when they come from most powerful places inside us, even when we get accolades from outside world, and even long after we finally get published.

Practicing selective arrogance can help disarm these nasty doubts. And, not to worry: If you are not arrogant to begin with, practicing type of arrogance I suggest will not transform you into an insufferable braggart. Rather, it will help uplift you from gutters of self-doubt onto clean, dry road to getting published. Even if you do not feel in least arrogant about your writing, you can still follow my simple instructions to act as if you do, with same results: to get published, or to get published again.

Selective arrogance does not mean thinking of yourself as any better than anyone else, or as having reached pinnacle of your skills. Rather, it means treating every word you write as a precious baby worthy of greatest care and nurturance. Here’s how to do that:

Never, ever throw anything away, period.

Carry with you at all times a means to record your creative thoughts.

Record your creative bursts, even if other voices inside you are dismissing them with negative judgments.

Trust your impulses and passions: if you feel drawn to write about something, write about it!

Eschew impatience-give your babies time they need to gestate. If you’ve read between lines, you see that these instructions have you do nothing more than treat yourself and your writing with respect. However, because many people have a hard time doing even that, I counsel my clients to behave arrogantly. It gets them giggling and releasing feelings they have about their writing, and makes it easier to find that respect.

I am sure that at in some era, at some desk, with some kind of paper (and perhaps some very special ink), some writer has breezed through a lengthy and challenging project from beginning to end with no delays. No one in her household has suffered, she’s felt pleased at each step of process, and her shoulders have never cried out for massage. I’m sure of this.

I am equally certain that for most people, writing projects have at least some period of delay. Sometimes, it takes form of distraction, and a bit of discipline works just fine to bring us back. Other times, our life’s work or inspiration of moment sits there, waiting for us to get back to it, and every incomplete we’ve ever taken in school, every shaming message we’ve ever heard, or self-doubt we’ve ever felt encrusts project like so many barnacles.

Worse still, “procrastination” and “writer’s block” pop up in writer’s tracts like names of diseases that need “cures,” right sledgehammer, or perhaps simply to be ignored. While some writers may find it helpful to have a name for what gets in way of what they’re trying to achieve, “writer’s block” or “procrastination” can falsely universalize very different phenomena. My obstacles, yours, and hers may be different animals, different species or even perhaps silicon-based non-organic entities. Framing them as negative blocks opportunity to learn something about ourselves or our writing.

For example, my reluctance to finish my novel may reflect a correct hunch about a major flaw in story structure I’m loathe to face, while yours may stem from guilt about being first in your family to succeed at an intellectual task. Each of us has an opportunity to notice and deal directly with heart of delay, rather than its limbs which trip us. Dealing with heart of delay could lead us down a more effective and sustainable path than one we’d forge by simply steamrolling over delay, or walking around it. I might need to bring in a book doctor to raise quality of my work, while you might need to have a heart-to-heart with a family member, neutral third party, or both about what it means for you to succeed as a writer.

I humbly suggest following: When next you find your mind meandering anywhere but to your work, don’t beat yourself up. Instead, give a listen to what’s guiding you astray. The answer may surprise you—and give you some clues about how to proceed with your project on clearest path possible. Here are some questions to help you determine what’s tripping you up, as well as some responses to each.

1) Do you have in mind an ideal way of doing things, and then get paralyzed when you start to do things in your own natural quirky way? Here’s permission, then. Write out of order. If ideas for middle or end of your book come before beginning, go with it. You can always move things later. Multitask—use one project to procrastinate from doing another.

If you’ve done your emotional homework and find that you still procrastinate (and many great writers do), have other projects in pipeline so that when you find yourself drifting from one big project, you’ve got others to work on to fill your time until you can get back to that one. If you’re stopped in your tracks because you think you have to work in a certain way, get back to drawing board! Work on pieces that compel you when you feel like working on them.

2) Is it possible that you lose big picture of what you’re doing in daily details? Connect your deepest desires and visions to each moment of your work.

Distill your longings into a sentence or paragraph such as “I am a published writer who gets great reviews and makes my entire living through my writing,” and post this in a visible place. Say it out loud to your mirror each time you begin your work. It might seem hokey, but many writers find that it actually helps to keep big picture in mind.

3) Do you have a realistic image of quality of your work? Find out what if any kind of help you need, then get it.

A society of journalists was asked how many writers were in room. Nearly all hands went up. Then speaker asked how many of writers considered themselves “good writers.” Nearly half hands went down.

While even best writers doubt their skill, others suffer from overconfidence. Well, maybe overconfident writers don’t experience suffering themselves, but their careers (and perhaps their peers) can suffer for their lack of help getting their writing to a publishable place. If you find yourself putting off work because you don’t know if it’s any good, find out. Get a professional in field with obvious credentials to help you make that determination, or do it yourself.

If you find out your work stands up content-wise, you may still need an outside eye to tell you whether your writing is okay on its own, or you need professional assistance to make it publishable. An editor experienced in your type of manuscript will be able to help you polish your prose to a high sheen.

Another option is ghostwriting, or hiring a professional writer to pen some or all of your manuscript. Many of most famous authors hire ghostwriters to help them get their message across. Sometimes they’re credited on cover with an “and” or “with,” but often they’re silent partners, hence term “ghost.”