There’s a tricky balance we all face as writers: the tension between self-belief and the desire for validation. At its best, writing is an act of confidence—saying, this matters enough to write down. That confidence is fragile and can crack early, especially if you share too soon or ask for opinions before you’ve even figured out what you really think.
That’s what matters, you know. What YOU think.
At this stage, at least.
Here’s the truth: you’re allowed to not know whether your work is good yet. You’re allowed to sit with the mess, the shapelessness, the half-formed brilliance. Your job is to protect it while it finds its shape.
That early phase—before beta readers, critique partners, or Discord feedback—is sacred. It’s where your vision gets a chance to breathe without being reshaped by someone else’s lens. If you hand your work over too early, you risk building it to match their expectations instead of your intent. It’s not wrong to get feedback—it’s essential, eventually. But the timing matters.
This is why confidence, especially at the start, is less about ego and more about containment. It’s about holding space for your own voice. Believing in your direction, even when it’s foggy. Writing a chapter and not asking, “Is this good?” but instead, “Is this true to the thing I’m building?”
You can always ask for feedback later. But you can’t un-hear a critique that sent you down a different path too early.
So write with confidence—not because you’re certain it’s brilliant, but because you trust that it might be, if given enough time to grow.
So, when should I get feedback?
Once your draft feels like it’s yours—not perfect, but anchored in a clear vision—that’s the earliest moment to start inviting other voices. Not to tell you what it should be, but to help you see where it’s not yet living up to what you meant it to be.
Personally, no-one sees my writing until I’m done with Job Number One. Once the story’s told, once I know the full shape of it, then I’m ready to hear what other people think; where it’s strong or weak, where it works or doesn’t.
Good feedback doesn’t rewrite your story. It doesn’t try to turn it into something it’s not, something that is less yours. It reflects it back to you—clearer, sharper, sometimes harder to face. It can help you to see the things that you’re too close to see, and it can help you to acknowledge truths that you wish you didn’t know. It’s most useful when you’ve already done the first pass of wrestling it into form.
So take your time. Trust your voice. Build the thing first.
Then, when you’re ready—get yourself some good readers.
(And if you’re looking for one, well… you know where to find me.)