Write Like Nobody's Watching

Quack.

When I was eight, I used to sit under the dining room table and write stories on scrap paper about my life. These stories usually featured talking animals and children who ran away to join the circus, too, but they always seemed to be about the world and how I engaged with it. I didn’t know what plot structure was. I hadn’t been taught about voice or pacing or stakes. But I knew how it felt when the spark hit. I knew the thrill of a blank page that was blank no longer.

No one told me I needed permission. I just wrote. Because I could. Because I wanted to.

That feeling never really left. But over timethe world built fences around it. We get told there’s a proper way to do things. That creativity is a privilege. That writing only counts if someone pays you for it, edits it, publishes it, applauds it. We hesitate. We wait. We hold back.

At EMF in 2024, I ran a beginner’s writing workshop — a joyfully chaotic couple of hours with people who had forgotten they were allowed to make stuff up. I handed out story prompts on lollypop sticks using a method I call CAPS: Character, Action, Prop, Setting. If you didn’t have an idea, great — now you do. If you already had one, even better — here was a new way in. In the run up to the event, lots of people tooted at my to ask me if I'd include my "rules of writing". So I made a slide with five bullet points.

There are no rules to writing.

And if there were, there wouldn’t be five. Standardised lists of rules never work. Also: quack.

People laughed. Then they scribbled. Then they surprised themselves. And honestly? That’s the only magic trick there is. The only rule I've ever been able to find when it comes to writing. It's just... start. Then keep going. You'll always end up surprising yourself.

I’m about to publish my fifth book. I’ve written plays, poems, novels, blogs, screenplays, and the occasional slightly over-dramatic post-it note. And still, every single time I start something new, I have to fight off the voice that says, "but what if this is rubbish? What if I’ve forgotten how to do it?"

But I write anyway. Because writing isn’t about brilliance. It’s about breath. It’s about taking a moment to pull something out of your chest and say, here, look, I made this.

So if you’ve been waiting for a sign to start? This is it.

Write like nobody’s watching. Write like I did when I was eight. Write like you’re under the dining table with shit crayola felt-tip and a head full of strange ideas. Write badly. Write joyfully. Write something that makes you laugh out loud, or weep, or both. Write even if you think no one will ever read it.

Because writing doesn’t belong to professionals, or publishers, or some elite group of creative masterminds. It belongs to humans. It belongs to you.

The world is weird and loud and overwhelming. Stories make it bearable. Stories make it breathe. So, please remember, you don’t need permission. You don’t need credentials. You don’t need a plan.

All you need to do is pick up a pen, and start.