Growing up in the nineties, grunge was king and the internet made a noise like a dying robot when it connected. Back then, getting to the top of your class involved being really bad at something first. But to get better, you had to actually know you were bad, understand why you were, and then, ideally, take some steps to be marginally less so.

Fast forward to the twenty-first century, two decades deep, and we’re in a world that’s stuck in a weird, contradictory loop. On the one hand, we’re obsessed with force-feeding ourselves positivity. Yet on the other hand, we thrive on negativity, because nothing spices up an otherwise bland existence like a good old-fashioned argument. This bizarre social paradox is most apparent on social media, where we all shout into the void, hoping our hot takes will make us feel alive. That’s precisely why I try to avoid it like the plague.

We’re all about handing out participation trophies now, making sure no one ever feels the sting of failure. That’s where we’ve gone terribly wrong, because you need to feel bad about being bad. Sure, you shouldn’t wallow in self-pity forever, but you must at least acknowledge your own mediocrity. It’s okay to suck, if you’re aware of it and motivated to do better. Just don’t expect to suddenly sprout wings and fly when you’ve barely mastered the art of flapping.

Even when you’re good at something, you can always be better. Take writing, for instance. I’ve always had a knack for stringing words together into something vaguely coherent. But throw me in front of an audience, and suddenly I’m the human embodiment of a train wreck — rambling, stumbling, and generally making an ass of myself. How can someone who writes halfway decently turn into a complete disaster when trying to speak? Well, that’s life, full of paradoxes and little reminders that we’re far from perfect. That’s okay, too; just don’t start throwing a pity party for yourself just yet.

I’ve been typing up my thoughts since the dawn of the 21st century. Long before the world was pixelated and stored in binary code, I was tapping away on keyboards, convinced that my every word was a masterpiece. Well, it wasn’t, but at least it was out there, for better or worse. Now, well into my thirty-seventh year, I’m still an amateur compared to the literary giants who’ve come before me. But I’m fine with that.

Writing, like all creative pursuits, is about getting something—anything—out onto the page. Once it’s there, you can’t get too attached, because those words don’t care about you. They’re just symbols, as flawed as their creator. So, it’s only through obsessive tinkering that they start to resemble what you meant. Even then, you can’t guarantee anyone else will understand them.

Most of the time, when I write — okay, type — what comes out isn’t exactly gold. But that’s alright. The important thing is that it’s out there, living and breathing on the page. I never know if I’ll come back to it, if I’ll expand on it, or if it will just sit there, a half-baked idea waiting to be rescued from the digital ether. I often find myself revisiting old thoughts, noticing the same patterns and concerns cropping up repeatedly. But these recurring themes have a way of occupying my mind.

I like to approach topics from different angles, taking them apart logically. Sometimes, I get these brilliant mental images that evaporate before I can even begin to describe them. Other times, I’m stuck with nothing but a gut reaction, which I still dutifully jot down. Just like bad first drafts, even half-formed thoughts deserve a second look. I don’t particularly enjoy arguing for the sake of it, but there’s value in debate—and even more in private contemplation.

Inevitably, it’s all about growth. Whether I’m scribbling in a notebook or typing away at a keyboard, I’m constantly striving to be better—knowing full well that perfection is a myth. So, before you become a great writer (if such a thing even exists), you must first write badly. Embrace the suck, as they say. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of literary misadventure, it’s that you have to be terrible before you can be anything close to good. Even then, you’re probably just fooling yourself.

~ Amelia Desertsong