The Two Kinds of Artistic Doubt
In my life among writers, I’ve found there are two types of artistic doubt. Let’s call them Creative Doubt and Meta Doubt. While both are inevitable, they are quite different from each other. The first is helpful and a spur toward greater art. The second is something else.
Creative Doubt
Let’s start on the positive. Creative Doubt is any doubt that has to do with the project at hand.
For example: You’re in the middle of writing a novel, but you can’t get your first act to work. You tinker with your character’s motivations, you map out their backstory, you move around the inciting incident. Nothing clicks. You talk with friends. You bang your head against the wall. At the nadir of Creative Doubt, you might wonder: Will this project ever work?
And then one fine day….Boom. The answer appears.
Who knows why? Sometimes it’s a chance comment from a critique partner. Sometimes it’s an idea you discarded long ago which you reconsidered. Sometimes it’s the simple act of clearly articulating the problem that paves the way. Whatever the reason, your creative blockage has vanished, and your work is better for having borne the doubt.
Creative Doubt is a healthy sign. It means you’re searching and questioning. And usually, if you wrestle with Creative Doubt long enough, the Muse gives you an answer. With Creative Doubt, you know your project is not yet working—but it might work. It can work. If you don’t have any Creative Doubt at all, you’re probably not doing it right.
Meta Doubt
Now let’s talk about the darker, more terrifying form of doubt: Meta Doubt. Meta Doubt asks that impossible, doomsday question: Is it all just pointless?
In the midst of Creative Doubt, you were wondering: How can I make this project work? Or, in the worst case: Should I scrap this project and start a new one? An artist in the midst of Creative Doubt may be frustrated by their current work, but they never doubt that it’s worth doing the work at all.
But Meta Doubt asks far more devastating questions: Will any project ever work? Will I ever be good enough? And even if I were good enough, would it matter? Should I be making art at all?
Meta Doubt is an irrational feeling, and it can’t be dealt with rationally. In the dark pit of Meta Doubt, no one can cheer you up. Meta Doubt’s haunting pain is a shadow of how much you actually love your art. It hurts to call any activity you love (or any person you love) “useless.” But this is just what Meta Doubt suggests. You feel resentful toward the Muse. You’re putting in so much, and the Muse is giving back so little. Creative Doubt is about who should do the dishes. Meta Doubt is about breaking up the family.
Meta Doubt is deadly to productivity, too. That’s because Meta Doubt isn’t about your work, it’s about your self. Symptoms of Meta Doubt include feeling like an imposter or a victim. You might begin to lash out generally at the “industry” or “agents” or “publishers” or other people and institutions far beyond your understanding and control.
A bout of Meta Doubt is most likely to manifest after getting a round of critical feedback; after a bevy of rejections from editors or agents; after a bad review. In all of these cases, the artist might step outside his or herself and think, why do I even bother? (It’s also important to note that Meta Doubt can sometimes begin as Creative Doubt, then spiral out of control. But once you spiral into Meta Doubt, just be sure you know the difference.)
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Dealing With Both Forms of Doubt
Now that we’ve identified the two kinds of doubt, let’s talk about how to deal with them.
As for dealing with Creative Doubt, I’ve heard artists describe several methods: Return to the project’s original spark. Work collaboratively. Do research. Expose yourself to the work of others. Return to your favorite givers of artistic advice and see what they recommend. Work on a different project for a while. Create a new outline, or, alternatively, write freely without any outline at all. Solicit feedback. Ditch all feedback. The pain of Creative Doubt is often like the pain of a hard workout. It hurts, but when you recover, you’re stronger. To choose one final metaphor, Creative Doubt is like a wild animal you can tame, and whose power can ultimately help you do your work.
So what about Meta Doubt? To extend that last metaphor, Meta Doubt is like a wild animal that will kill you. You don’t need to engage it. You need to get away from it. In my experience, Meta Doubt is often solved by non-artistic means. Rest. Spend time with friends. Eat. Drink. Lower your expectations (a personal favorite). Walk away from your work, and agree to only walk back to it if you truly feel a genuine, irresistible urge. Be open to a shifting in the manner, means, and method you use to make your art.
Above all—and this is the key point—never, ever judge your work while in the grip of Meta Doubt. Don’t edit. Don’t hit delete. Don’t throw it in the fire. In fact, don’t even look at your work-in-progress. In the grip of Meta Doubt, even Shakespeare is a hack. One of the most cruel aspects of Meta Doubt is the way it makes you feel hostile toward your own work. Meta Doubt is akin to an existential panic, and its judgements about your own art, or anyone’s, aren’t valid. Meta Doubt is highly destructive, and just wants to burn the house down.
When gripped by Meta Doubt, try to keep a spirit of forgiveness toward yourself. You wanted to do this work once; when you took your first steps along the path of the artist, it felt good, and exciting, and vital. Conjure up this younger version of yourself, and ask, “Why did I begin walking down the path of creativity?” When you’ve done that, then ask, “Do I still have these same motivations to make art, or am I a different person now?” If you still share those same original yearnings, then you will know you must find a way to continue. If you have changed from that younger self, then you’ll have your answer as well.
All told, the struggle of the artist’s vocation is in many ways the struggle with doubt. An excess of doubt can crush an anxious spirit. A lack of, or suppression of doubt can leave the overconfident artist making stale, lackluster work. Only the luckiest, wisest, and bravest of artists can walk that razor’s edge every day, fending off doubt with one hand while making art with the other.
Whatever kind of doubt you’re dealing with, remember this: You are not alone. Doubt preys upon us all. So take a breath, step back, eat a good meal, call an old friend, then get some sleep and pick up the struggle again tomorrow. This, too, shall pass.
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