Lies We Tell Before Writing a Book

A gentle inventory of delusion, optimism, and unchecked confidence.

Every writer has a sacred pre-book ritual.

It’s called Lying to Yourself.

You sit down with a fresh idea and think:

This one will be different.

It won’t be.

Lie #1: This draft will be clean

You tell yourself you’ve learned.

You’ve read craft books.

You’ve taken notes.

You’ve matured.

This time the first draft will emerge graceful and coherent.

Instead it will look like:

• three opening chapters that contradict each other

• a protagonist with no consistent eye colour

• a plot hole large enough to rent out

But sure. Clean draft.

Lie #2: I’ll write a little every day

You imagine yourself disciplined. Calm. Focused.

What actually happens:

• Day 1: 4,000 words of manic brilliance.

• Day 2: collapse.

• Day 3: research spiral about medieval door hinges.

• Day 4: identity crisis.

Consistency is a rumour.

Lie #3: This idea is simple

You say this with confidence.

It’s just one character. One central conflict.

By chapter six you’ve introduced:

• a morally complex rival

• a traumatic backstory

• a political subplot

• and a map

The map was unnecessary. You made it anyway.

Lie #4: I won’t get emotionally attached

You absolutely will.

You will:

• defend fictional people in arguments

• feel personally rejected by beta feedback

• mourn scenes you have to cut

• Google your own book title even though it does not exist yet

This is normal behaviour.

Lie #5: I know how this ends

You don’t.

You think you do.

You have an ending in mind.

Halfway through writing, your characters unionize and refuse to cooperate.

Now the ending involves fire. Or betrayal. Or both.

Lie #6: I won’t compare this one to other books

You will.

You will read something brilliant and briefly consider quitting.

You will read something mediocre and think, I can absolutely do better than this.

Both reactions will occur within the same week.

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And yet.

Despite the lies.

Despite the chaos.

You start again.

Because beneath the delusion is something stubborn and hopeful.

The belief that this could be the one.

The book that works.

The story that lands.

The version of you that finally pulls it off.

That “lie” is the only one we need.