Crippled Writer
by Shelley Malicote Stutchman
Did someone once tell you that you weren’t good enough to be a writer? Maybe a teacher’s careless comment, or a pile of rejection slips that lead to self-doubt. Maybe life itself, illness, exhaustion, fear, or comparison, has you feeling like a crippled writer, unable to move freely in your creativity. But your voice is still there, waiting patiently beneath the weight of those old wounds. It’s time to rise above all those things that have crippled your confidence as a writer. Write not for permission or praise, but because your words can heal. Because stories matter. Because beauty still lives in your pages, poems, and unfinished drafts, waiting for you to set it free.
When a Teacher Told You That You Had No Talent
Remember the day you signed up for creative writing in high school, hope high, ready to finally step into the thing you secretly knew you were good at. From elementary school on, you’d been the kid who brought home A’s and A+’s for every story. Teachers praised your imagination. They told you that you had “a gift.” And you believed them.
Then came her. The teacher, everyone said, was brilliant. Tough. “A real writer.” You walked into her class excited, maybe even a little nervous, but eager to rise to the challenge. When she assigned you a simple paper to write about what you liked about the state you live in, you poured yourself into it. You wrote with enthusiasm. You painted pictures with adjectives, crafted scenes with heart, and handed it in thinking, this one will blow her socks off.
But when she returned your paper, there it was: A big, fat D.
And worse, she scribbled a note on your paper, suggesting you drop creative writing altogether and take something “more suited to your abilities.” Photography, maybe? With one careless stroke of a red pen, she didn’t just grade a paper. She graded you. And you carried that wound for years.
That moment didn’t just sting; it crippled you as a writer. You kept writing because it was part of your DNA, but you hid it. You guarded your stories. You told yourself not to expect much. You let one teacher’s voice drown out every A+ you’d ever gotten. But here you are now, an adult. A writer again. Words still spilling out of you, even after all that time. And it’s time to ask yourself something honest: Why did you let one person’s opinion silence your voice? Not all teachers are right. Not all teachers see talent. Some look only for skill, punctuation, mechanics, and structure, not realizing that talent is the flame, and skill is simply the oxygen that helps it burn brighter. Skill can be taught. Talent comes from the soul. So maybe she wasn’t rejecting your gift at all. Maybe she never saw it. Maybe she didn’t know how.
Take a moment today to walk yourself back through that memory, not to relive the pain but to release it. Remind yourself of every other teacher who believed in you. Every story that flowed from your heart. Every spark that refused to burn out.
Then do something powerful: Sit down at your desk. Open your notebook. Reread your stories. Rework them. Reclaim them. And toss that one old paper into the trash heap of things that no longer get to define you. You were never the D. You were always the talent. And now you’re finally writing like you believe it again.
A Pile of Rejection Slips
There’s nothing quite like finishing a book, the high, the hope, the moment when you whisper, maybe this is it. You send your manuscript out to literary agents, small presses, big presses, anybody who might believe in your story the way you do. People warn you, “Don’t let the rejection letters crush you. Everyone gets them.” As if knowing they’re coming somehow makes them sting less.
But those rejections still arrive, one after another, like tiny paper cuts to your confidence. Soon, you have a whole folder of them on your computer, a graveyard of “unfortunatelys” and “not a fit for our list.” At first, you keep submitting, then a little less, and then, almost not at all. What you once clutched with pride, you now approach with fear. This is how traditional publishing can cripple a writer, quietly, slowly, almost invisibly.
But here’s the truth nobody tells you: You do not have to stay crippled. You do not have to hand your dream to strangers who skim your pages between meetings. Some publishers truly see writers. Quill Hawk Publishing is one of them. CEO Amy M. Lee doesn’t hand you a form letter; she holds out her hand. She listens. She guides. She reminds you that your voice matters, your story matters, and you matter. She helps dismantle the crushing weight of rejection and replaces it with possibility.
Your hard work deserves light. Your manuscript deserves breath. One “no” from someone who never met you does not get to decide your future. Don’t throw away your hope. Don’t bury your dream in a folder labeled “Rejections.” Your book belongs in the hands of a reader who needs it, because they are out there. And someday, someone will read your words and whisper, “I’m so glad this writer didn’t give up.”
When Life Gets in the Way
You want to write. You want to be an author. But somehow… You never have time.
Life has a way of filling every corner of the day, schedules, laundry, illness, bills, work, family, responsibilities that multiply when you're not looking. The list feels endless, and somewhere along the way, your creative dreams get pushed to the bottom of the pile. So, ask yourself:
Have you let the routine of life cripple you as a writer? Because in the middle of all that chaos, there's that voice inside whispering, Write. That voice nudges you while you're folding towels, waiting in the doctor's office, paying bills, or stirring a pot on the stove. And the question becomes: How do you honor that voice when life feels too busy for creativity? The truth is, life can absolutely smother your imagination if you let it. But here's the part we often forget: You have the power to prioritize your dream. We all get the same 24 hours. And when you break it down, old-fashioned pie-chart style, fifteen minutes is just one tiny sliver of your day. But that sliver adds up. Fifteen minutes a day becomes seven and a half hours of writing in a single month. Seven and a half hours of your voice, your stories, your healing, your becoming, and something magical happens when you start with those fifteen minutes. You begin to crave the time. Your creativity wakes back up. You remember who you are. Soon you'll realize that life is no longer getting in the way of your writing, because writing has become part of your life. Not an extra. Not a luxury. A necessity, like breathing. You may not be able to control the chaos of life, but you can claim your minutes. And those minutes, collected day after day, are what transform a dreamer into an author.
When Your Mind or Body Becomes the Barrier
Sometimes the thing that cripples you as a writer isn’t a teacher, or rejection, or time, it’s your own body or mind. Dyslexia, spelling challenges, disabilities, physical limitations, chronic illness, these can make writing feel harder, slower, or more exhausting than it should be.
But hear this with compassion: Difficulty does not make you less of a writer. If you have dyslexia, you may need to work harder than others just to get words on the page. If spelling is a struggle, if typing hurts your hands, if your eyes tire easily, if you deal with memory issues or slow processing, it may take more time, more patience, more revision. So what? Who cares if your first draft is messy? Who cares if you need tools, dictation, spellcheck, or help from a trusted editor? None of that defines your talent. None of that disqualifies your voice.
A beautiful example is Henry Winkler, “The Fonz” from Happy Days. He couldn’t read when he was young and struggled terribly in school. He wasn’t diagnosed with dyslexia until he was 31 years old. Thirty-one. Can you imagine how many years he lived believing he simply “wasn’t smart enough”? Yet despite all of that, Henry Winkler didn’t just learn to write; he created the beloved Hank Zipzer children’s series, about a boy with dyslexia who turns his struggles into strengths. Those books have helped thousands of kids see themselves not as broken, but as brilliant. His words are a powerful reminder for every writer facing limitations: “Your grades do not define how brilliant you are. Good thinking and a good thought is why you are smart.” —Henry Winkler.
So, if writing takes you longer, if you struggle with spelling, if you dictate instead of type, if your hands or brain make the process harder, let that be part of your story, not the end of it. Because what matters most is not how you write, but that you keep writing. Your limitations don’t cripple your talent. They make it more remarkable that you persist.
When Your Family Doesn’t Support Your Writing
Sometimes, the people closest to you can unintentionally cripple you as a writer. Not everyone understands the creative process, and some families don’t recognize writing as “real work.” They may see your time at the computer as optional, interruptible, or less important than errands, chores, or their own needs. Your children or spouse may constantly ask you to handle one more task, one more favor, one more crisis, even when you’ve clearly said, “I need one hour of uninterrupted time to write.” The guilt can be heavy. They may not mean harm, but their interruptions can silence your story before you ever finish a paragraph.
And sometimes, it’s not just interruptions, it’s disrespect. A spouse or family member might jokingly refer to your writing as “your little hobby,” or fail to take your goals seriously. When the people who love you don’t believe in your calling, it can make you doubt yourself, even when your soul knows you were born to write.
If this is your reality, there is only one way to protect your creativity: set boundaries. Not angry boundaries. Not defensive boundaries. Loving, firm, respectful boundaries. A closed door means you are working. A scheduled hour means you are not available. Silence your phone. Give yourself permission to take up space. Remind your family that your writing isn’t something you squeeze in around everyone else’s needs; it is part of who you are. The people who love you may not understand your passion, but they don’t have to. You understand it. You need it. And your stories deserve the same respect as any job, any art, any calling.
You are not selfish for wanting uninterrupted time. You are a writer honoring the creative life inside you.
We All Carry Wounds
In the end, every writer carries wounds, teachers who judged too quickly, bodies that struggle, families who don’t fully understand, and a life that always seems too busy. Those things can absolutely cripple you if you let them. But writing is not just a task on your calendar; it is part of your identity. Your job now is not to wait for the world to make room for your stories, but to make room for yourself. Honor your voice, guard your creative time, forgive the past, and show up again at the page. You are not writing to impress anyone; you are writing because your soul refuses to stay silent.
When life tries to silence you, write louder. Your voice was meant to be heard.
Author’s Note
I’ve lived long enough, written long enough, and struggled long enough to know this truth: every writer faces something that threatens to silence them. I have been crippled by my own fears. But writing has also been my lifeline, my way of making meaning of the world. If anything in this blog reminds you of yourself, please know you are not alone. Keep writing, even when it’s inconvenient, imperfect, or unseen. Your story matters, and someone somewhere needs the words only you can offer.
