Write Like No One Will Read It

Getting Honest on the Page Before Editing for the World

There’s a tiny rebellion hidden inside every blank page. It’s a soft whisper that says: Do I have the balls to write this?

Recently I’ve been talking to another artist about a story she wants desperately to tell but is afraid of what others may think. The story she has isn’t exactly fiction and understandably, she is worried about how people in her real life may perceive it. I understand that fear. I’ve heard other writers and artists express the exact same feelings. I’ve even felt it myself. Vulnerability on the page feels like a confrontation. Because that’s exactly what it is. A confrontation of self. That’s why it’s so important to lean into that feeling. If you feel unsteady, that’s exactly the moment we should leap.

Say it anyway, I found myself telling her. Write it for you first. No one else has to see it. Tell the story, exactly the way you want to tell it. Then once it exists, you can decide what you want to do with it. The first person you need to impress is yourself. So, give yourself space to surprise yourself.

The alternative is to bully yourself into inaction.

“A writer who can’t write is one of the saddest creatures in the world.”

~Alice Feeney, Beautiful Ugly

Most of us learned somewhere along the way, from teachers, editors, critics, or just life, that our words must impress to matter. So, we polish them until they shine so bright we rub the varnish right off of them. We cut out the raw bits, the ugly bits, the confessional bits. Often when we aim for perfect, we end up with plastic. Nothing stunts creativity like fear.

But that first draft, it may be ugly and full of mistakes, but I guarantee you it has something that rarely makes it into the final draft if we aren’t careful. Soul. Heart. Breath. Poetry. Realness.

That first draft is your red, beating heart on a platter. It’s a baby, fresh from the womb, covered in that white gummy shit, lungs full of amniotic fluid, freezing from having been kept inside so long. But when it’s finally out and screaming its existence into the world, it’s beautiful in its raw existence. You created that living, breathing, piece of art and now… now your only job is to get it ready for the world. But it has to be born first. And to do that, you have to be willing to be disobedient.

The real writing, the kind that leaves claw marks on your heart and breadcrumbs for someone else to follow, does not come from your well-behaved self. It comes from rebellion, anger, grief, trauma, or passion. It’ comes from the secret voice you muzzle to save face. I don’t know a single artist in history that ever made anything of value by being polite.

I want you to remember this: the page is yours first.

You are allowed, and encouraged, to write like no one will ever read it. To spill out your mean thoughts, your ugly jealousies, your buried questions, your unclaimed desires. To tell the truth slant or straight. To let it be messy, incomplete, even embarrassing. Especially embarrassing!

When you do this, something shifts in the tone. Your words stop performing and start revealing. You stop writing to be liked and start writing to be remembered, by yourself first, maybe others later. To feel worthy of being known first by yourself…to create something you can feel proud of…It’s the secret doorway back to your wild, alive, unedited voice. And only you know how to do it. You know when you aren’t being authentic and when you are. It may be difficult at first, but it’s a muscle we have to flex and stretch and grow into. The only way to do that is through practice.

One of my favorite writers, creators, and teachers, Julia Cameron, has the perfect exercise for quieting the inner editor. She calls it morning pages. Three longhand pages each day to sweep the mind clear of clutter. I think of it as a lover’s note to myself. Some days it’s a prayer. Some days it’s rant. Some days it’s so dull it’s delicious. And often, buried in the nonsense, I find the seed of something real I can grow later. The don’t ever know until it’s finished because the point is to write, stream of consciousness, without stopping.

So, this Sunday, I invite you to loosen your grip a little. To remember why you ever picked up the pen. To trust that your private words deserve space to be real before they become a product.

There is time for editing, time for polishing, time for sharing. But first, let your soul stretch its legs in secret.

✨Journal Prompt✨

Before you go back to your Sunday activities, give yourself ten quiet minutes to write.

Write one page about a truth you’ve never said out loud, no punctuation, no backspacing, no apologies. Something real. Something scary. Something that makes you feel uncomfortable to put on the page. Lean into that discomfort, let yourself feel it in your body and your mind. That's the muscle to stretch.

Then, let it out, close the notebook, take a deep breath. That’s enough for today. You are an artist, whether anyone ever sees your work or not.

💌 If you want, feel free to share a tiny scrap of your secret page with me in the comments, or keep it all to yourself. You can even burn it if you need to. I’m a fan of theatrics.

I’ll see you next Sunday, right here in the mess and the magic.

With ink on my hands and heart,

Christina Graves