According to American novelist, Kurt Vonnegut, “Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake.” I agree with him, because I have experienced it personally nearly every time I practice my writing, that soul growing. I also especially love that he uses the words practice and well or badly, which allows any earnest effort, good or bad, an equal share of the extraordinary quality he describes as soul growth. The art that we create need not be miraculous itself in order for our hearts and minds and sense of being to blossom and grow. It is the practice of creating art that matters.
For some of us that practice will eventually lead us closer and closer to creating art that we can be proud of, confident in, willing even, to share with others. That is what I’ve been thinking about today. Am I confident enough to share?
Confidence is a very subjective term when it comes to writers, I have found. Personally, I swing between states of certainty that what I’ve written is… Barely passable, like maybe my mom would like it if she were alive, … to This is absolute garbage. Mom would tell me to burn it, … to Well, maybe it might be interesting to one or two people if they happened to have something in common with the protagonist, … to By golly! I think I got that right. I think it would appeal to a large audience, … to What the heck was I thinking? It’s rubbish! It’s good! It’s drivel! It’s brilliant!
And round and round it goes.
So, what does it take to keep going?
A January 6, 2026 article in Psychology Today offers some insight: “Creative confidence is the engine of creativity. But just as in the story of The Little Engine that Could, the Yes, I can conviction does not have to be a certainty. The Little Engine did not chug over the mountain with cheerful self-assurance. Rather, it kept repeating, “I think I can” and, after succeeding, concluding with, “I thought I could”. Those statements are ones of trust sufficient to start the Engine, get it going, and gain momentum.”
“When we get going, we can build creative confidence by reflecting on our own progress, identifying with others who become role models, getting encouragement along the way, and noticing positive feelings of small successes. Then, the creative confidence we build becomes a resource for the future.” How to Build Creative Confidence | Psychology Today
I identify with the Little Engine every bit as much today as I did when my mom read me the story when I was a little girl.
If you’ve been here before you may remember my mentioning my manuscript and that it was with an editor. This was actually the second complete professional edit for this particular manuscript. The first one I initiated and paid for prior to sending out my last round of queries. I had been querying agents and then small publishers for over two years and hadn’t gotten a solid offer, so I decided the investment was necessary. I enjoyed working with my editor, who addressed both developmental issues and regular copy editing, and the manuscript definitely came out the better for our collaboration. I felt it was ready to get back out there after that, and began submitting it with renewed confidence.
And then I got an offer to publish. I haven’t spoken of it much, partly because I think I doubted it would go further. Something, I expected, would surely go wrong. And it did, in a way, right at the beginning, because the publisher was new and had gotten a poor review which scared me, and also because an editor I spoke to about it warned me. A traditional publisher never asks for payment from the author, she said, and I had read that over and over for years and knew it to be true. Yet the publisher who offered to publish my book did ask for money. They are a new press and although they take care of all of the other costs associated with publishing a book—the printing, cover art, formatting, ISBN, printing, distribution, and marketing (minimal as that is)—they wanted me to pay for another editor (their preferred editor) to go over it before sending me a contract.
Hybrid publishers are different. Their business structure is such that the author and the publisher both invest in the book project. There are wonderful hybrid publishers out there, but I found that I couldn’t afford any of them. Self-publishing was not something I seriously considered. I looked at it, but knowing my poor business skill set, my horror of numbers and marketing and technology—well, let’s just say I knew better than to try. Plus, I would have always wondered if I published it myself: Was it really any good? At least with a reputable hybrid publisher or a traditional publishing house, I would know that someone believed in my work.
But this new publishing house, was it truly a serious traditional business?
I weighed my options, which were nil. I thought about the number of years I’d worked on the manuscript. The number of years I’d spent writing other manuscripts and taking courses and studying creative writing. The cost of my MFA. I thought about my age.
In the end, I signed their contract.
I’m now 200 pages in on my final reading after their editor went through it, and when I finish and send it back in, it will be in their hands entirely.
I don’t know how long the process will take, but if all goes well, I’ll be making an announcement to all of you one day about the manuscript finally metamorphosing into a book. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll make an announcement about that, too. Either way, thank you for reading. Thank you for caring. And keep on creating. Don’t forget that “I think I can,” does sometimes turn into “I thought I could.”
Either way, your soul is growing.
