Writerly Self-Doubt

Montaigne has this to say on the subject:

"And in truth, what are these things I scribble, other than grotesques and monstrous bodies, made of various parts, without any certain figure, or any other than accidental order, coherence, or proportion?"

Such self-doubt is utterly respectable in a writer. This is what makes Montaigne great, even.

You also see something like this in Orwell's essays. I'm thinking of "Shooting an Elephant," in particular, because I just taught it. Rarely does anyone come out of an Orwell essay looking honorable, and in this one Orwell emerges as the biggest fool of all. Above all, Orwell is to be admired for his ability to take a unflinchingly honest look at everything he believes in--and at himself.

Self-doubt may be essential to a good writer. Even Hemingway had it, though he went to great pains to cover it up. Shakespeare might have had it the worst, though. I'm thinking of Macbeth's big moment, when he calls his own story "a tale told by an idiot"--the idiot, presumably, being Shakespeare--or Prospero's relentless self-doubt in The Tempest.

I've known this kind of doubt. I've tried to quit writing many times. What have I ever gotten out of writing? I've never been satisfied with anything I've written--not for long, at least. Maybe if I continue to doubt the virtue of my work, though, I'll end up like Orwell or Montaigne someday. It's a fructifying kind of doubt to strive for.