Sunday 25th May marks a full decade since I began my writing journey. Ten years of late-night scribbles, early morning word sprints, half-finished stories, published books, and more lessons than I can count. It’s been messy, magical, frustrating, and deeply rewarding—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
So, in the spirit of reflection (and hopefully a bit of guidance for those earlier on the path), here are ten lessons I’ve learned from ten years of putting pen to page.
(Quick bonus note before we dive in, if you want to see a breakdown of my author journey, check out my “Author Timeline” HERE. I try to keep this updated fairly regularly to
1. Find your community early
Writing might be a solo act, but the journey doesn’t have to be lonely. In fact, it shouldn’t be. One of the biggest turning points in my career wasn’t a book launch or a big royalty cheque—it was finding my people. A writing community gives you far more than feedback or a critique partner. It gives you momentum. It gives you cheerleaders. It gives you friends who understand the weird, wonderful world of publishing without needing you to explain every detail.
When you hit a wall (and you will hit walls), they’ll remind you why you started. When you finish a draft, they’ll celebrate with cake or GIFs or a thousand exclamation marks. And when you’re not sure if what you’re writing is any good, they’ll help you see the gold you missed.
It doesn’t matter if your community is made of five people on Discord, a local writing group at your library, or a couple of writer friends you text at 2am when you’re having a plot crisis. What matters is that you’re not doing this alone. Writing in isolation might get you started—but writing with a tribe will help you keep going.
2. Focus your writing on readers over peers
When you start writing, it’s tempting to seek approval from other writers. We want to be seen as talented, as worthy of a seat at the table. So we chase cleverness. We try to impress with poetic language, elaborate structures, or stylistic flair that sounds writerly. But here’s the truth: most readers don’t care if you’ve written the perfect metaphor—they just want a good story.
Peers are great for craft advice and community, but they’re not your main audience. Your real goal is to connect with the reader curled up on a couch, or commuting to work, or reading your story under the covers at night. They’re not reading to judge your technique. They’re reading to feel something. To be swept away. To be moved, thrilled, terrified, comforted—whatever your story promises.
When you shift your focus from impressing your peers to serving your readers, something changes. Your stories become more honest. Your characters more relatable. You stop writing for applause and start writing to connect. And that connection? That’s where the magic happens.
Of course, it’s still okay to want to grow, to challenge yourself, to improve your craft—but never at the cost of heart. Write for the people who will lose themselves in your world, not the ones looking for typos in your sentence structure.
3. Your first book’s success isn’t the final word
There’s so much pressure wrapped up in your debut. It feels like everything is riding on that first release. You wonder: Will it sell? Will people like it? Will it launch my career or doom it? It’s easy to pin all your hopes—and fears—on that one book. But here’s the truth: your first book is just the beginning. It’s not a verdict. It’s a step.
Some authors hit the ground running. Others don’t find their audience until book three, book seven, or even later. And honestly? That’s okay. Because each book you write sharpens your skills, teaches you more about the craft, and helps you better understand who you are as a writer. It’s all part of the process.
Your first book might flop. It might quietly sell a few copies a month. Or it might blow up beyond your wildest dreams. But none of that defines you long-term—unless you let it. The only way to fail is to stop writing altogether. Every great author you admire has a body of work behind them. One book didn’t build their career—persistence did.
So write the first book with love, then keep going. Your second book will be stronger. Your third will surprise you. And by the time you reach your tenth, you’ll look back and realise just how far you’ve come.
4. Word count isn’t the only measure of progress
We love to track our word counts. There’s something satisfying about watching those numbers climb, ticking off daily goals, or posting screenshots of a strong writing streak. And while word count can be motivating, it’s not the only indicator that you’re making progress—and sometimes, it’s not even the most important one.
Progress can look like deleting a chapter that doesn’t work and replacing it with a better one. It can look like outlining, brainstorming, or rewriting a scene for the fourth time. It might mean staring at a page for twenty minutes while you figure out why your character suddenly stopped behaving like themselves. Or it might mean taking a walk, listening to your story in your head, and coming back with clarity.
There are seasons of writing where the words flow fast and furious—and others where things slow down because your story is demanding more depth, more thought, more care. That’s still progress. Don’t let the “1,000 words a day” myth make you feel like you’re failing if your creative process looks different.
Progress is anything that moves your story forward—internally or externally. Trust that the behind-the-scenes work matters just as much as the words on the page.
5. Read what you want to write. Write what you want to read.
If there’s one shortcut to becoming a better writer, it’s this: read more of the kind of stories you want to tell. Genre is your classroom. Every book you read teaches you something—how to build suspense, where to drop clues, what makes a character unforgettable. You start to notice pacing, patterns, language, and rhythm almost by osmosis. You see what resonates—and what doesn’t.
But just as important is this: write the kind of book you wish existed. Don’t chase trends or write what you think will sell if it doesn’t excite you. If you wouldn’t pick your own book off the shelf, why would anyone else?
When you write for yourself first—when you write something you’d genuinely love to read—you pour passion into every page. That passion is infectious. Readers can feel it. It’s what keeps them turning pages and coming back for more.
So read often. Read widely. And write the story that lights a fire in your gut. That’s where your best work lives.
6. Finding your voice takes time
When you first start writing, it’s totally normal to sound like someone else. Maybe it’s your favourite author. Maybe it’s the last book you read. You pick up rhythms, word choices, even story structures and use them as a guide. That’s not copying—it’s learning. Every creative starts by emulating what inspires them. But over time, if you keep showing up, something starts to shift.
You begin to recognise what feels like you. Certain words, themes, and tones stick. You start trusting your instincts—writing dialogue the way you hear it, building stories in your own strange and beautiful way. And one day, without even noticing it, someone will say: “I knew this was yours just by reading it.” That’s voice. And it’s gold.
But here’s the thing: voice doesn’t arrive all at once. It’s not a lightning bolt—it’s a slow reveal. It takes writing a lot, editing more, trying new things, and letting go of the need to sound impressive. It also takes courage to write in a way that feels personal and honest. That’s often where your true voice hides—just beneath the polish, waiting for you to stop performing and start being real.
Be patient. Keep writing. Your voice is already there—it just needs time to surface.
7. Chasing trends can lead to burnout
It’s tempting to look at the bestseller lists or TikTok trends and think, That’s what I should be writing. And sure, some writers can chase trends successfully—but for many of us, it’s a fast track to creative burnout. Because by the time a trend has become popular, it’s already peaking. And if your heart’s not in it, writing to follow the market can feel like dragging yourself through sand.
Trend-chasing also pulls you away from your core. You start second-guessing your ideas. You wonder if your current project is “relevant” or “sellable” instead of asking whether it’s true to you. And without that personal connection, writing becomes a chore instead of a joy.
That’s not to say you should ignore the market completely—being aware of what’s working is smart. But your best, most lasting stories will come from what you love. Passion shows. Authenticity shines. And often, the books that break out are the ones that dared to do something different, not just echo what’s already out there.
So stay informed, but stay true to your gut. Don’t write what’s trending—write what won’t leave you alone. That’s the story worth telling.
8. You don’t have to write full-time to be a writer
There’s this weird idea floating around that unless you’re writing eight hours a day, you’re not a “real” writer. That the only way to truly earn the title is to quit your job, live off your books, and type from a cabin in the woods. Truth is, that’s a fantasy—and a dangerous one at that.
Most writers, even published ones, juggle other responsibilities. They write before the kids wake up, on their lunch breaks, or during stolen moments between shifts. Some never plan to go full-time. And that doesn’t make them any less of a writer.
Writing isn’t about how many hours you put in—it’s about showing up consistently, even when life is loud. It’s about carving out space, however small, to tell the stories only you can tell. If you write, you’re a writer. Whether you do it for twenty minutes a day or full-time doesn’t change that. What matters is the work, not the label.
So don’t let the pressure of “full-time” stop you from claiming your identity. Your path is valid. Your time is valuable. And your words still count.
9. Make sure you’re enjoying the process
Deadlines, metrics, sales, reviews—it’s easy to get swept up in the hustle. But if writing starts to feel like just another chore, something’s gone sideways. Yes, there will be hard days. Yes, there will be doubt, revision fatigue, and scenes that make you want to throw your laptop out a window. But at its core, writing should feed you. It should light a spark.
Enjoying the process doesn’t mean every moment is fun. It means creating space for curiosity, play, and discovery. It means giving yourself permission to try weird ideas, to write badly, to get lost in your world without constantly worrying about outcome.
If you only ever write for the end result—whether that’s a finished draft or a book sale—you’ll burn out. But if you can find joy in the act of writing—in the sentence that finally lands right, in the character who surprises you, in the quiet satisfaction of finishing a chapter—you’ll keep coming back.
The process is the point. Everything else is just icing.
10. It’s called a novel for a reason
There’s no one right way to write a book. And yet, early on, many writers fall into the trap of thinking they have to follow a set formula to be taken seriously. The “correct” story structure. The “marketable” protagonist. The “standard” word count. But here’s the truth: the books that stand out are often the ones that break those rules—or bend them in unexpected ways.
The word novel literally means new. Fresh. Original. Your voice, your perspective, your weird little ideas—that’s what makes your story worth telling. You don’t have to write like your favourite author. You don’t need to match what’s trending. You just need to be you on the page.
Readers connect with honesty. With quirk. With character and texture and soul. So if your story veers off the expected path, let it. If your prose leans lyrical, dark, sharp, or sparse—own it. That’s your fingerprint. That’s your brand of storytelling.
Don’t try to fit in. Try to stand out by being more yourself. That’s where the power lies.
Bonus: You don’t need a certificate to call yourself a writer or author
There’s no governing body that hands you a badge when you’ve “earned” the title. No final exam. No degree that grants you access to the writer’s lounge. Yet so many new writers hesitate to claim the word—author—as if it belongs to someone else. Someone more experienced. More successful. More legitimate.
Here’s the truth: the moment you decide to write, to commit to putting your stories on the page—you’re a writer. And if you’ve finished a book, published or not, you’re an author. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve got a publisher, an agent, or a stack of rejections. You’ve done the work.
Imposter syndrome is loud. It’ll tell you you’re not ready, not good enough, not real. But it’s lying. Writing is a craft, not a club. You earn your place by showing up, by growing, by daring to share your words with the world.
You don’t need permission. You just need to keep going.
A final word
Thanks for sticking with me through these lessons. Writing for ten years has been a rollercoaster—full of highs, lows, and everything in between—but every step has shaped who I am today, both on and off the page. If even one of these lessons helps you feel more confident, less alone, or more inspired to keep going, then this post has done its job.
If you’re curious about how this journey unfolded—from my very first story to the books I’ve published, the setbacks, the milestones, and all the in-between moments—I’ve put together a page chronicling it all.
👉 Take a look at My Author Timeline to see the full behind-the-scenes of the last ten years.
And if you’re a writer or reader who loves horror, dark fiction, or simply wants a space to connect with like-minded creatives, come hang out with us in the Devil’s Rock community—a place to share work, get feedback, talk books, and celebrate the strange.
👹 Join the Devil’s Rock Community and find your tribe.
