You sit down to write your first book. The blank page stares back. You have an idea , maybe even a good one. But then the questions start. Is this any good? Who would want to read this? Am I even a writer? This internal noise is the first and biggest wall every debut author hits. The experience of writing a first book isn't about crafting a masterpiece on the first try. It's about learning to navigate that noise , to put words on the page even when you're convinced they're the wrong ones.
I wrote my first book not in a quiet cabin , but between day jobs and life's constant interruptions. The setting could be anywhere from a coffee shop in Silicon Oasis to a quiet corner of a villa in Jumeirah. The location doesn't grant talent. The work does. This is the core lesson. Your experience will be messy , frustrating , and filled with doubt. That's not a sign you're doing it wrong. It's a sign you're doing it.
Lesson One: Your Job is to Write , Not to Judge
This is the non , negotiable rule. A writer writes. An editor edits. A critic critiques. When you're writing your first book , you are all three , and that's the problem. You must fire the internal critic during the drafting phase. Its not for you to judge if your works good enough. Thats an editors job.
Think about it. If you stop every few sentences to evaluate , you'll never build momentum. The first draft is for getting the story out of your head and onto the page. It will be clumsy. Parts will be awful. That's fine. That's normal. "The first draft of anything is shit , " as Ernest Hemingway famously said. He wasn't being modest. He was stating a fact of the creative process. Your job in the first draft is simply to have a draft.
This is where many aspiring authors in fast , paced environments like the UAE get stuck. There's a pressure for everything to be polished , perfect , and presentable immediately. Writing doesn't work that way. You have to allow for the messy , private , imperfect stage. No one needs to see it until you've done the next crucial step.
Key takeaway: Separate the creation process from the evaluation process. Write first , judge later.
Lesson Two: Submit Your Work Everywhere
You've finished a draft. You've revised it. Now what? You send it out. This is where another mental block appears. You think your work isn't ready for that particular agent , or that prestigious literary journal , or that competition with a big name attached. You decide to wait until you have something "better." This is a mistake.
You've gotta be in it to win it , right? You cannot win a lottery you didn't enter. You cannot get published by a publisher who has never seen your manuscript. The gatekeepers of the industry agents , editors , contest judges are the ones paid to make decisions about quality. Your role is to put your work in front of them.
Apply for every opportunity. Submit to agents who represent your genre. Enter writing contests , even small ones. Send short stories to magazines. The goal isn't just acceptance. The goal is to get used to the process of putting your work out there. Each submission is practice in professional detachment. It also increases your statistical chances. According to a 2023 survey by Authors Publish , authors who submitted their work to at least 20 outlets before seeking an agent had a 40% higher chance of securing representation [1]. The data supports the hustle.
In a connected place like Dubai , you might also look locally. The Emirates Airline Festival of Literature runs competitions. The Arts Club or Dubai Public Library events sometimes have open mic or submission calls. These are real avenues. But the principle is global. Cast a wide net.
Key takeaway: Submission is a numbers game mixed with strategy. Your only guaranteed failure is not trying.
Lesson Three: If You Can't Be Bothered , Why Should Anyone Else?
This lesson is about respect for the craft and for your future reader. Drafting is hard. Proofing is tedious. It involves reading your own words dozens of times , checking for consistency , spelling , grammar , and flow. It's easy to skip this. You tell yourself the "big picture" is what matters , or that an editor will fix it later.
That's a dangerous attitude. If you can’t be bothered drafting and proofing your writing , why should anyone bother to read it? Sending out a manuscript filled with typos and basic errors shows a lack of professionalism. It tells an agent or publisher that you don't take your own work seriously. Why should they?
Proofing is the final polish. It's the difference between a homemade meal and one served on a dirty plate. The meal might be delicious , but the presentation puts people off. Tools like Grammarly or ProWritingAid can help , but they don't replace a careful , slow read by a human you. Better yet , use text , to , speech software to hear your words read aloud. You'll catch awkward phrasing you'd miss with your eyes.
Key takeaway: The effort you put into polishing your manuscript is a direct reflection of your commitment to the reader.
Lesson Four: Don't Prejudice the Reading
When you talk about your book before it's done , or even after , you have a tendency to frame it. "It's a fantasy novel , but it's also a bit of a political thriller." "It's a memoir , but it's not very dramatic." Why prejudice someone’s reading? By adding these qualifiers , you're setting expectations , often apologetic ones.
Let the work speak for itself. When someone asks what your book is about , give them the clean logline. "It's about a woman who discovers her family is part of a secret society protecting ancient knowledge." Full stop. Don't add , "It's probably not as cool as it sounds , " or "I'm still working on the middle part." This underselling is a form of self , sabotage. It preempts criticism by inviting it.
This is especially relevant in social settings. At a gathering in Dubai Marina or a networking event at DIFC , you might be asked what you do. "I'm a writer , " is a complete sentence. You don't need to add , "Well , I'm trying to be." Owning the title , even before publication , is part of the mental shift from aspiring to doing.
Key takeaway: Describe your work with confidence. Allow readers to form their own opinions without your pre , loaded critique.
Lesson Five: Stop Waiting for the Perfect Conditions
Waiting for inspiration , or an ideal situation? This is the dream killer. The fantasy is that one day you'll have a clear month , a quiet office , and boundless creative energy. Then you'll write your book. That day rarely comes. Life is full of day jobs , family responsibilities , social commitments , and sheer exhaustion.
The book gets written in the scraps of time. It gets written for 30 minutes before work. It gets written on your phone during your commute on the Dubai Metro. It gets written in a notebook while waiting for a meeting. "I write when I'm inspired , and I see to it that I'm inspired at nine o'clock every morning , " said author Peter De Vries. He scheduled his inspiration. That's the secret.
Treat writing like a job , not a hobby. You show up at the designated time and you do the work , whether you feel like it or not. The act of writing often generates the inspiration , not the other way around. A study on creative habits from the University of California found that professional artists and writers relied on consistent routine over fleeting inspiration 80% of the time to produce their work [2]. They didn't wait for the muse. They clocked in.
Key takeaway: Consistency trumps inspiration. The perfect time to write is the time you make , not the time you wait for.
Lesson Six: Embrace the "Why?" and "So?"
During edits , you must become your own most ruthless interrogator. For every character action , every plot turn , ask "Why?" For every descriptive passage , every line of dialogue , ask "So?" Why does your protagonist make that choice? What is their motivation beyond "the plot needs them to"? So what if the room is painted blue? How does that detail matter to the mood or the character?
These questions force depth and intentionality. They cut the fluff. If you can't answer "why" convincingly , the action feels hollow. If the answer to "so what" is "it doesn't really matter , " then that sentence or scene is likely filler. This internal interrogation is what turns a rough draft into a coherent story.
This isn't about judging the initial idea. It's about refining it. The first draft is for exploration. The subsequent drafts are for justification. Every element should earn its place on the page. This rigorous approach is what separates a manuscript that feels amateurish from one that feels professional , even if it's your first.
Key takeaway: Be relentless in questioning your own choices. If an element doesn't have a purpose , it's a candidate for deletion.
The Unspoken Reality: It's a Lonely , Rewarding Grind
Beyond the lessons , the reality of writing a first book is its solitude. You spend hundreds of hours alone with your thoughts. In a hyper , social city like Dubai , this can feel counter , cultural. While others are at brunches or desert safaris , you're at your desk. This requires explaining your absence , guarding your time , and sometimes feeling like you're missing out.
But there's a flip side. The local writing community , though sometimes fragmented , exists. Workshops at the Dubai Writers' Centre or meetups through groups like Ripe Market can provide connection. Online communities are invaluable for round , the , clock support. Finding your people , even virtually , reminds you that you're not the only one staring at a screen , willing words to appear.
The reward is not just a finished book. It's the knowledge that you set out to do something profoundly difficult and you saw it through. You managed the self , doubt , the time constraints , the rejection , and the tedious edits. You built a world from nothing. That changes you. It gives you a resilience that applies to everything else. Who knows why this is? And who cares? The experience itself is the transformation.
The journey of a debut author is a masterclass in perseverance. It teaches you that creativity is a verb. It's a series of actions , decisions , and showing up. Your first book may not be a bestseller. It may not change the literary landscape. But it will change you. And that makes every difficult , lonely , exhilarating moment worth it.
Final takeaway: The value of writing your first book is found as much in the person you become during the process as in the finished product you hold at the end.
