Book Review | The Courage to Write – How Writers Transcend Fear by Ralph Keyes

I returned to writing earlier last year after a decade-long hiatus to raise my children. Writing has always been my quiet refuge. It’s a space where I could slip away from the noise of daily life. But even in solitude, I have always sought connection and often reached for books on writing. These books are my source of advice, and I also seek reassurance and inspiration from those who have walked this path before me.

Years ago, I read Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott and Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert; both left a lasting impact on me. These are the kind of books that feel like old friends. Their words reveal new meanings with each reread. They have been my steady companions and also my source of encouragement whenever doubt crept in.

Three months ago, while browsing a secondhand bookshop, I stumbled upon The Courage to Write: How Writers Transcend Fear by Ralph Keyes. I had never heard of him before, but the title spoke directly to a truth I knew well—fear is an ever-present shadow in the creative process. It’s impossible to resist a book that promised to explore the relationship between the creative process and fear. Without hesitation, I added it to my cart, along with another classic, Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. The latter is familiar to many writers, though I have yet to read it myself.

Having finished The Courage to Write, I’ve spent some time reflecting on its message and how deeply it resonated with me. I’m currently halfway through Writing Down the Bones and will share my thoughts on it once I reach the final page. For now, I’ll concentrate on Keyes’ book, which explores what it means to write in the face of fear. It is a subject that feels intimately familiar to anyone who has ever confronted a blank page and wrestled with the enormity of creation.

A Conversation About Fear

The Courage to Write is not a how-to book. Instead, it reads like a conversation, which helps all writers deal with the fear, doubt, and anxiety they all feel. Keyes takes the mystery out of being creative and shines a light on the problems most writers experience but don’t talk about. He tells us to dig deep into our self-doubt and impostor syndrome to find the courage that’s hiding there. He believes that writing is both an honor and a duty that people who have never done it often don’t appreciate.

The Pros

The Courage to Write is so engaging because it is so honest. Keyes doesn’t romanticize writing; instead, he shows it as a deeply human activity that is full of uncertainty. “Am I good enough?” is a question that his book helps people deal with. Even the finest literary giants have had to deal with this question. Drawing on the experiences of writers like Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, and Anne Lamott, he shows us that anxiety is not a sign of failure but an important part of the process.

Keyes writes in a careful, even personal tone. His ideas seem to apply to everyone, which supports the idea that while writing can be isolating, the effort to overcome fear unites all authors.

One of the best things about the book is that it changes the way we think about anxiety. Anxiety is not a problem; it’s a vital force that makes insight sharper and pushes writers to be real. Keyes says that fear pushes us to write more honestly and dig deeper. This profound view tells writers to deal with their fears instead of battling them.

The Cons

Even though The Courage to Write has a lot of good points, it sometimes goes over familiar ground. If you’ve already read a lot on the subject, Keyes’ insights might not seem very new to you. A lot of the time, the stories are about well-known issues writers had, like how Hemingway drank to drown his fears or how Woolf questioned her own worth. A lot of writers are familiar with these stories.

Also, Keyes is great at acknowledging and validating anxiety, but his answers are more philosophical than practical. This book might not be right for you if you want to find real ways to deal with procrastination, perfectionism, or the problems that writers face every day. His core message that you should embrace your fear and let it lead you is powerful, but it comes up so often that some chapters feel like they’re just different takes on the same idea.

Final Thoughts

Reading The Courage to Write feels like wandering through a dense forest. Each tree represents a different fear, and the odd shaft of sunlight reminds you of how courageous you are. It’s not a guide. It gives you hope that the journey is worth continuing on, even if you can’t see the path. This book is for people who need to hear that fear is not the enemy but a voice telling us to be braver and write more deeply and honestly.

But this book might not be for everyone, just like a vast landscape can be both comforting and overwhelming. If you seek clear directions instead of reflection, you may want more concrete advice. The Courage to Write isn’t really about getting over your fears; it’s about learning how to live with them. And maybe that’s the most important lesson in and of itself. Writing, like life, is less about conquering every mountain and more about finding what it means to be human.

Book Review | Waiting by Ha Jin

I bought Waiting by Ha Jin from a used bookstore some months ago. It had been sitting among the stack of books on my desk, untouched, until lately. I picked up this book to read since my unread stack was growing. I simply couldn’t quit buying new books. It took me weeks to finish it since life got in the way, but I finished reading it last night.

Waiting is one of those novels that lingers with you long after you’ve finished reading it. The book lacks sweeping romance, but you will be drawn to its exploration of human indecision and societal limits.

The story follows Lin Kong, a Chinese army doctor, who spends 18 years in limbo between two women: Shuyu, his devoted, traditional wife, and Manna, his modern, independent lover. Every year, Lin returns to his village to seek a divorce from Shuyu, who agrees but later refuses in court. The story is more than just a love triangle—it’s also about a man paralyzed by indecision.

What struck me the most about Lin was not his indecisiveness but what it showed about his personality. It became evident to me that his hesitancy was not about love but rather about his inability to confront himself. He didn’t know what he wanted, so he drifted through life, letting others’ expectations and societal pressures influence his choices. At the same time, I couldn’t help but understand him. Living in a rigid communist culture made it difficult for Lin to follow his heart. Divorce was frowned upon, personal desires were frequently sacrificed for the greater good, and external judgment had a significant impact on every action.

It’s easy for those of us who live in a freer society to condemn Lin and ask why he didn’t just decide between Shuyu and Manna. However, a closer look reveals a man trapped by society as well as his own passivity and illusions. He assumed that what he couldn’t have was what his heart truly desired, confusing lust with longing for love.

“His heart began aching. It dawned on him that he had never loved a woman wholeheartedly and that he had always been the loved one. This must have been the reason why he knew so little about love and women. In other words, emotionally he hadn’t grown up.”

Reading this made me realize how different I was from Lin Kong. I’ve fallen in love soulfully. I’ve taken chances, experienced sorrow, and allowed love to transform me. I’ve shown up in my relationships, even when it meant failing and starting over. Lin, on the other hand, never allowed himself to experience deep emotions. He lived on the surface, terrified of true vulnerability, and as a result, he never genuinely experienced love.

But I get it. I understand his fear and hesitancy. In his world, there was so much at risk. The tight restrictions of society, the dread of making the wrong decision, and the conflict between duty and desire all contribute to Lin’s personality. Lin’s story is tragic because he allowed life to happen to him instead of taking charge of his own happiness.

Waiting prompted me to reflect on deeper realities about love and marriage. Love is complex. It is not all romance. Marriage is not for the weak. It demands forgiveness, humility, compromise, and sacrifice. And sometimes the presence or absence of children may make or break a marriage.

This book offers profound insights into society, love, personal responsibility, and the delicate balance between desire and obligation. But I must be honest that it is a slow read, somewhat draggy and monotonous. However, it forces you to sit through the discomfort, just like Lin Kong did.

In the end, Waiting isn’t just about Lin Kong and his love triangle. This story is also a mirror, reflecting our own hesitations and the way we let life pass us by. The story also made me thankful for the chances I’ve taken, the love I’ve risked, and the courage to keep showing up even when things are difficult.

Do I recommend it? Yes, but only if you’re willing to live with the discomfort of indecision, the sorrow of unfulfilled desires, and the bittersweet realization that we may be our own worst obstacles.

The stack of read/unread books next to my desk.