Every writer wants to write better. Fewer have the guts to write badly first. But that’s how you learn writing without fear, by giving yourself permission to suck. To write badly. To start before you’re ready.To let it all out, even when that inner voice screams, “Don’t.”
You know the one. Your mom’s voice you internalized, your friends’, maybe even a group chat in your head gossiping about your dumb ideas. They’re probably not. But if they are? Get new friends.
Because here’s the truth: when you allow yourself to write shit — to poop on the page — you’re not being careless. You’re tapping into the source. Your source. The place where your best ideas linger, waiting to jump onto the page.
Every what if, every ounce of self-consciousness interrupts the stream. Keep doubting, and you’ll dry up faster than a Pringle in the desert.
And to extract the good ideas, you have to dig out the bad ones blocking the way.
💭 Why We Freeze (And Why It’s Not Our Fault)
Every time you open a blank page, your brain thinks you’re about to be judged, humiliated, and exiled from the tribe. If you were shunned from your tribe, you wouldn’t survive in the wild. You’d have to hunt for your own food. That survival instinct is imprinted in us.
Writing is exposure. Even when no one’s reading yet, your brain acts like everyone is placing you under a microscope. That’s why it’s easier to scroll, clean your desk, or rewrite your bio for the fifth time than to begin.
And that perfectionist voice? It’s just control disguised as safety. It whispers, “If I think a little longer, I’ll get it right. Perfect.”
But you don’t get it right by thinking. You find rightness through movement — through the mess.
The first draft isn’t supposed to be good. It’s supposed to exist.
No one is born with a gift, pooping sculptures out of brilliance. Writing is reading, researching, writing, rewriting, editing, reviewing. It’s not just having high standards and then lower skills.
Why is it so hard to admit we know nothing at first? Why is it so hard to make space to learn? Because school taught us we’re numbers. Because if we get an A or a 20 (or whatever your grading system is), that becomes the mark of our worth. It should simply tell you where you’re at and how you could improve — but it doesn’t.
💩 So What Does It Mean to Poop on the Page?
It means grabbing your pen, your keyboard, or the back of a receipt and writing whatever’s spinning in your brain. Anything and everything.
Ask yourself: What am I thinking right now? Then wait.
Nothing happens? Perfect. Keep waiting.
That quiet moment before the words come? That’s your mind unclenching.
When something does show up, that’s the real stuff.
Write about your day, that weird dream, your favorite meal, the way your cat looks at you like you owe him rent (and not the other way around).
Don’t worry about capital letters, commas, spelling, or sounding clever. Just spill.
If what you write is hieroglyphs, it’s fine. No one has to read it.
But if you can muster the tiniest bit of care, try to make it barely legible. Your future self will thank you when they’re trying to decipher your creative hieroglyphs.
🪶 The Poop Plan
- Set a timer. Five, ten, fifteen minutes — however long you can stand it. The time constraint will be a small commitment. You’re free to go when it ends.
- Don’t stop. No deleting, no backspace. Momentum beats meaning. Just keep it all going exactly how you think. Like: “Melaby was a girl I used to—akgkds—what was I saying?” (Hard to understand later, but doesn’t matter.)
- If your inner critic starts talking, write its voice down too. Let it complain. Then keep going. It’s okay not to sound Shakespearean when you’re just taking out the trash. Accept it. Let your inner critic know that too. (“Hence, vile remnants of my supper! Thou art no muse, only Monday’s curse!”.)
- Add something absurd. A nonsense detail breaks the spell of seriousness. (“My muse just threw a Pringle at me.” Not sponsored. I swear. When I wrote this, Pringles were simply the first thing that came to mind.)
- Stop mid-sentence. Leave your brain wanting more.
When you allow the garbage out first, the good stuff has room to breathe. t’s creative plumbing. You unclog your thoughts so truth can flow.
🔮 Write Without Fear
Every masterpiece started as creative waste. The difference between the writers who finish and the ones who quit is that one group sits in the discomfort long enough to turn it into gold.
When you write badly, freely, stupidly, you reconnect to curiosity. You stop asking, “Is this good?” and start asking, “What happens if I keep going?”
Your first draft is compost. You don’t frame compost; you plant in it. The nutrients are invisible, but they’re what make your future ideas grow.
So next time your brain says, “This is dumb,” smile.
It means you’re doing it right.
You’re pooping on the page and clearing space for something real. Pooping on the page is just another name for writing without fear.
I hope this shitty post put a smile on your face. Now go write your brilliant ideas, Writernaut.
If you liked this, you might enjoy When the World’s on Fire, I still play.
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