If this is a question you have grappled with or are currently wrestling with, I want you to tape this affirmation to your bathroom mirror: “You are not too old, and it is not too late.”
Social media can make us feel like life ends at 35 or sometimes even 25, which is mind-boggling considering your brain isn’t even fully developed until then, but there is no expiration date on your dreams. Emily Dickinson’s writing career didn’t really start until after her death! But let’s not wait that long to share your work with the world.
Editor’s Note: See Jane Write publishes guest articles by writers who identify as women, non-binary folks, and our allies. Learn more here.
By Mary Chiney
The first thing they teach you in a newsroom is how to disappear.
As a journalist, your training is a masterclass in the art of the invisible. You are taught to stand in the back of the room, notebook pressed against a damp palm, recording the vibrations of someone else’s brilliance while your own voice stays tucked safely behind a press pass. For years, I have made a living in the third person. I have dissected the discographies of global icons for The Quietus, mapped the rising trajectories of African trailblazers for The Recording Academy (Grammy.com) and Afrocritik, and translated the raw, sonic vulnerability of artists like Kid Cudi and Amaarae into the polished, intellectual prose required by “reputable publications.”
In the high-stakes world of culture journalism, the “I” is a liability. To say “I felt” is to invite the ghost of “unprofessionalism” into the room. We are taught that the story is the subject, and we are merely the lens, transparent, unbiased, and essentially, silent.
But lately, I’ve been thinking about the cost of that transparency. When you spend all your time building legacies for others, what happens to the architecture of your own soul? I saw the call for submissions for See Jane Write, and it felt like a mirror being held up to a face I hadn’t looked at in years. It asked a question that journalists rarely ask themselves: Are you the author of your own life, or are you just the biographer of everyone else’s?
Not because you’re famous. Not because your life has been perfect or overly dramatic. But because you’ve lived, learned, changed, and survived. And there is power in that.
Writing your story isn’t just about publishing or performing your work (although I obviously want to see you do both). It’s about the clarity, confidence, connection, and impact that can come from putting your experiences into words and sharing those words with someone else.
The act of writing your story can transform the way you see yourself and the world around you – even if you keep your work tucked inside your journal. But I hope you’ll consider turning those private reflections into published pieces!
Let’s talk about why writing your story matters and how you can start today using the journal you may already have.
I’m obsessed with goal setting. I set writing goals and goals for other areas of my life each year, each quarter, and each month. Because I’m so passionate about goal setting, I’m constantly reading books, attending workshops and listening to podcasts to help me get better at setting and achieving my goals. I take what I learn, tweak it and try it out. Then I figure out how to share what I’ve gleaned from my personal experiences with you. That’s why I get so excited for my annual Write the Vision Workshop! (This year’s workshop is on Sunday, December 14 at 4 p.m. CT. You can sign up here.)
Why You Aren’t Achieving Your Writing Goals
If you HATE goal setting, it’s probably because you’re not following through. And if you’re setting writing goals each year and nothing in your writing life is changing, chances are it’s NOT because of laziness. You work hard. Probably too hard. You are NOT lazy. But I think I know what’s holding you back.
Editor’s Note: See Jane Write publishes guest articles by writers who identify as women, non-binary folks, and our allies. Learn more here.
By: Delany Diamond
I’m a pantser, also referred to as a discovery writer or intuitive writer. Unlike plotters, we write stories without an outline, “flying by the seat of our pants.” That means the story organically unfolds as we write.
Early in my career, I found it difficult to locate how-to books that aligned with my writing style. Typically, they encouraged me to become a plotter or offered advice from a plotting point of view.
The rigid structure and demand for planning left me frustrated and struggling to get words on paper. It didn’t help to hear about the many authors who started where I did and turned into plotters. I was certain that if I also learned to plot, I’d write faster and better stories.
