How to Overcome Uncertainty in Your Writing Journey

I recently read an article by George Saunders, the most celebrated American short story writer today, about uncertainty and it got me thinking…

In the article, Saunders talks about the moment when writers feel uncertain about a particular part they are working on in a story. He argues that those moments are opportunities and solutions to the problems buried in the mess of what the story is trying to be. The way to clean such a mess is to listen to one’s subconscious.

While reading, my mind wandered far beyond the scope of the story form. I began to think of how uncertain I've been feeling about my writing journey. I call myself a writer while I have not published a single piece; I call myself a writer while I struggle with spelling and grammar; I call myself a writer while writing in my second language. Sometimes a thought rushes toward me from the far end of my mind, and it stops at my ears and whispers, “You think people will read that? HA!” then it leaves me alone to decide whether to continue or not. We all have these moments of doubt, regardless of what we do in life. The only thing that keeps us going is belief. The only thing that gives life to our work is doing the work.

My grandfather’s and my father’s generation migrated to America with nothing but the clothes on their back, and a dream. Most of them were shepherds back home, who had to borough money to come here. The lucky ones had siblings in Saudia Arabia who funded their way to the States. They worked in the sea, at car factories, and on farms. They lived with six people in one room, sent money back home, and hoped to return one day and never see the streets of America again. But most of them remained and opened their own business, a bodega or dukaan. The smart ones bought real estate or started a big business. When I look at the Yemeni community now, I can very much say they made it— there are a few hiccups here and there, but they’re doing well. It all started with a sharped who believed he could do better.

I think of my grandfather who worked for Ford, I think about the nights he worked late at the factory away from his village and family. I think of the thoughts he had, the glamour of migrating that was extinguished by the first job he got cleaning bathrooms. I think of the uncertainty he felt about making enough money for his two boys to one day join him in New York, moving his family from the village to the city, buying a house for his kids and grandkids, and reuniting with everyone.

Life does not owe us anything. We are often told that if we work hard enough we will be rewarded with riches, achievements, and recognition. That’s not always true. All we have is the belief that is followed by action. As for results, they don’t come from us. Therefore, what remains in our control is the process and belief. If we have the former locked, the latter we need to nurture by the stories of those that preceded us. They believed, they worked, and they achieved— sometimes more and sometimes less than what they aspired for.