You ever read something and feel like the universe just unlocked a little window and said, “psst…this is for you”? That’s how I felt the first time I tripped over Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote: “Every artist was first an amateur.”
Honestly, I kind of wish someone had handed that to me years ago—printed on a coffee mug, embroidered on a pillow, stapled to my forehead, whatever. It would’ve saved me from an Olympic-level amount of self-doubt.
I mean, think about it. Imagine the first novel Stephen King wrote that didn’t see the light of day. Picture Picasso staring at a sketch and going, “huh…this looks like a potato.” I guarantee even Freddie Mercury had a moment where he mumbled a lyric under his breath and hoped nobody heard him trying things out. Lowe-stakes beginnings are the secret origin story nobody talks about enough.
A Messy Start Is Basically a Rite of Passage
And oh boy, my early drafts? They were…something. Bless their little chaotic hearts. I remember sitting in a café once, typing as though I’d just learned what a plot might be but wasn’t entirely convinced. The sentences rambled, the characters wandered around like lost tourists, and the dialogue felt like two lamps arguing about electricity.
Did I feel ridiculous? Absolutely.
Did I keep going? Somehow, yes.
Because Emerson was right—even if I didn’t know it yet.
There’s something comforting about remembering that everyone starts in that same foggy place. The place where you’re doodling stick figures or writing dramatic vampire poetry or trying to sculpt clay and ending up with something that looks like a shriveled pear. We all earn our way forward one awkward attempt at a time.
The Myth of “Natural Talent” (aka The Thing That Made Me Freeze Up for Years)
I spent way too long thinking talent was some mystical inheritance. Like you either got sprinkled with glitter at birth—boom, you’re an artist!—or you didn’t. Spoiler: this mindset is nonsense, and I wish I could go back in time and bop myself on the nose for believing it.
Whenever someone looks at my current writing and says something like, “You’re lucky—you’re just naturally good at this,” I want to hand them a stack of my early journals. Or let them peek at one of the abandoned book drafts where the main character’s personality changed every three paragraphs. Or read the opening sentence that literally began with, “It was nighttime and also morning depending on how you thought about things.” (True story. I don’t even know what I meant.)
Artists grow. Artists fail. Artists try again.
The only difference between an amateur and someone further along is…time. And a pinch of stubbornness.
My Favorite Part of Being a Lifelong Amateur
Here’s the thing that Emerson doesn’t address directly—but it’s baked right into the quote if you squint a little: being an amateur is actually kind of adorable.
Like, imagine being new at something and not knowing the “rules” yet. There’s freedom in that. There’s joy in messing around before your brain starts telling you to be Serious and Proper. My favorite writing memories? They’re from the amateur days. The days when I didn’t know about genre conventions or pacing or any of that grown-up stuff. I was just vibing with a keyboard, a tea, and a half-formed idea.
Sometimes, when the pressure of “being good” creeps in, I try to reconnect with that early version of myself—the one who didn’t know what he was doing, but did it anyway because it felt good.
Maybe the real lesson is: stay an amateur, just…a more experienced one.
The Weird Beauty of Letting Yourself Be Bad
Nobody likes sucking at something, but wow—there’s such a relief in saying, “I’m going to be terrible at this for a bit.”
I mean, that’s how kids learn literally everything. They don’t sit there sobbing because their macaroni necklace doesn’t look professional. They just glue noodles to a string and present it like they’ve invented jewelry.
I try to channel that energy more.
If you’ve got something creative you’ve been dying to try—painting, songwriting, pottery, writing spicy fanfic about pirates—start embarrassingly small. Start amateur-level. Start with stick figures if you need to.
Your future self will look back and go, “aw, look at us, trying.”
And the best part? Trying becomes doing. Doing becomes improving. Improving becomes…not perfect, because perfect is boring…but something you feel quietly proud of.
Emerson Was Basically Saying “Relax”
At least, that’s how I read it.
It’s like he’s whispering from across history:
“Go on, make something. Everybody looks goofy at the beginning.”
And I love that.
I need that.
You probably do too.
So here’s my totally-not-wise-but-still-true advice:
Be the amateur.
Be messy.
Make the weird art.
Write the odd chapter that doesn’t go anywhere.
Sing off-key.
Scribble.
Play.
That’s how every artist you admire started. And it’s how every new one begins—including the one you become each morning you decide to try again.
Prince Norian thought his biggest worry was living up to his father’s expectations—but that was before a dark sorcerer set his sights on Tregaron. When an attack leaves Norian marked by the curse of the wolf, he’s thrust into a destiny he never asked for. Can friendship and loyalty withstand the pull of forbidden magic? Or will Norian’s new nature tear his world apart? Norian’s Gamble is a tale of sorcery, betrayal, and a prince learning what it truly means to lead.