The idea of the ‘born’ writer is one of the most persistent myths about writing. We love stories about literary geniuses—authors who seem to conjure brilliance from nowhere, whose words arrive fully formed as if dictated by some higher power. It’s an intoxicating image, but it’s also a lie.
No writer is born knowing how to write well. Even those with an instinct for language must shape it into something meaningful, and that shaping takes time, effort, and practice. Yet, the myth persists because it’s comforting. If writing is a gift, then those who struggle can say, I just wasn’t meant to do this. It offers an easy way out, an excuse not to try. But the truth is, writing isn’t magic—it’s work.
The writers who succeed aren’t necessarily the most talented; they’re the ones who keep going. They write when they don’t feel inspired. They rewrite when their first attempts fall flat. They study the craft, they learn from their mistakes, they push through doubt and frustration. Talent, if it exists at all, is nothing compared to persistence.
It’s easy to assume that good writing should come effortlessly. That if you were really meant to be a writer, the words would just flow. But most of the time, they don’t. Even the best writers struggle. Even the most celebrated books were once messy drafts. The difference between someone who dreams of writing and someone who actually writes isn’t talent. It’s the willingness to do the work.
The idea of the “natural” writer is seductive, but it’s also limiting. It discourages people from learning, from improving, from believing that they can get better. But writing is a skill, and like any skill, it can be honed. It doesn’t require genius.
It requires showing up, planting your ass in your seat and putting your hands on your keyboard.
Do that. Make words appear on the screen. Make the words tell a story.
There, you’re writing.
Now: Keep getting better at it.