How do I get started when I’m scared of getting it wrong?
Write the worst possible version
Really the worst. It’s an instruction, not a figure of speech.
“You don’t start as an expert. You start curious.”
Not from a chapter — based on an interview with Jacob Collier, British musician and arranger.
When it happens to you
You’re in front of the page, the keyboard, the notebook. You know what you want to say, but nothing comes out — because whatever came out wouldn’t be good enough.
Why it isn’t writer’s block
It’s fear of the bad first mark. As long as the page has to be good, every sentence is a verdict, and nobody writes under a verdict. Besides, people who know exactly what they’re doing rarely do interesting work.
Rule
When the instruction is to fail, there’s nothing left to protect.
How to get going, in 4 steps
- Give yourself the opposite instruction: write the worst possible version. The flattest, the silliest, the most botched.
- Go for it, properly. Not a serious draft dressed up as a bad one — really bad, on purpose. If you catch yourself polishing a sentence, you’ve blown it.
- Reread. Every time, there are 3 lines that hold up, and they would never have come any other way.
- Keep the 3 lines, bin the rest without a second thought. They’re your real beginning.
⚠ It’s not a method for publishing fast
The worst version is still a practice scale: it’s for getting unstuck, not for showing. Don’t confuse “I dared to write” with “it’s ready”. The sorting comes afterwards, and it’s ruthless — that’s what makes the exercise safe.
What it changes for you
You stop waiting for the idea that would justify starting. You also get back the material your caution kept under lock and key: your unconscious ideas no longer have any reason to stay hidden, so out they come.
How to practise
Once a week, 10 minutes flat, the worst thing in the world. An advert, a poem, a scene. You show nobody and keep only what floats to the surface.
Remember
You don’t start as an expert. You start curious.
You may be wondering
I can’t write badly, it makes me uncomfortable.
That’s a good sign: it means the fear of judgement really is there, and it was waiting for you further up the page. Lay it on thick, exaggerate until it’s ridiculous.
And if nothing floats to the surface?
It happens one time in five. You’ve still won the session: you wrote, and the next page starts more easily.
Does it work for things other than writing?
Yes, for anything with a first mark: drawing, cooking, preparing a meeting, recording your voice.