Nobody Is Coming to Give You Permission

I want to talk to the writer who has been sitting on something.

Maybe it's a manuscript that's been finished for six months and you keep finding reasons not to send it out. Maybe it's a book that's been published and you've mentioned it exactly twice on social media because you didn't want to seem like you were being too much. Maybe it's a newsletter you started with good intentions and then went quiet on because you weren't sure anyone was really reading. Maybe it's an idea you've been carrying around for years, waiting until you feel ready enough, credentialed enough, healed enough, sure enough.

I need you to hear this: nobody is coming to give you permission. And even if they were—you don't need it.

I've spent over twenty years in publishing. I've worked with hundreds of writers, closed deals, negotiated contracts, and watched the industry from nearly every angle it has. And one of the truest things I can tell you is this: the gatekeeping is real, and it is also not the whole story. There are writers who have every combination of platform, credentials, and timing that a publisher could want—and they still don't get the deal. There are writers who get the deal and then discover that traditional publishing requires them to hustle just as hard as any indie author, with less control and a smaller cut of the earnings. The approval you are waiting for is not the guarantee you think it is.

But I'm not only talking about publishing decisions. I'm also talking about the writer who won't tell people about her book. The one who posts about it once and then goes silent because she doesn't want to be annoying. The one who is sitting on a story that could change someone's life because she’s still trying to convince herself it's worth telling.

Someone needs your words. Not a version of them that has been smoothed down and made safe and held back until you're sure they're perfect. Your words. The ones you actually have right now.

And when you think you've said too much—when you feel like you've talked about this project too many times, shared too many updates, shown up in people's feeds once too often—say it again. Because the person who needed to hear it hasn't heard it yet. Your audience is always turning over. Someone is always arriving for the first time. The post you think everyone has already seen is brand new to someone who just found you last Tuesday.

This is not permission to be careless or lazy about your work. Do the work. Take it seriously. Write the best version of what you have to say and then package it with the care it deserves. But do not confuse taking the work seriously with waiting indefinitely for someone or something outside yourself to tell you it's ready.

Say yes to you! Approve yourself. That is not arrogance. It is obedience. You were given something to say. The world is waiting—even if the world doesn't know it yet. Your job is to be faithful to the assignment, not to wait for applause before you start.

Whether you're traditionally published, independently published, or faithfully writing to a small list of newsletter subscribers who open every single email—someone needs what you carry. Show up for them. Stop waiting. Go.

What's one thing you've been holding back that it's time to release? Tell me in the comments.