I write about all the times I've cheated on my husband and call it fiction.
I'm gay and I can't stand Queer Lit.
I've never bought a book from an independent bookstore.
Three years after a close writing friend published her first novel for an ungodly sum of money, I still haven't read it.
Even though I write literature, I think movies, YouTube and Vine are where it's at.
As a combat veteran, I wrote fiction about a character who struggled with killing women and children during war. But it wasn’t fiction. It was my way of confessing.
Had a one night stand with a famous & married writer at a writer's retreat. Later, he emailed me John Mellencamp's video "Hurt So Good" and asked me for a dirty pair of underwear.
I bought an app that pinged my phone every time someone bought my novel.
When I smoke weed I feel guilty that I should be using that time to write; when I'm writing I rush to reach my wordcount so I can smoke weed after.
After writing short stories for more than 10 years, I still haven't published a single one.
I told my boyfriend I was going on a writing retreat for three days, but really I wanted to get away for a few days so I could decide whether I should break up with him.
All of my rejections are recorded on an Excel spreadsheet, and I always have the total number memorized.
I buy almost all of my books used for 1 cent on Amazon, even though I know I'm defrauding the author and publisher.
I wrote a nasty anonymous review of a friend's memoir.
I plagiarized two sentences of my dissertation.
I've had two well-received stories published as nonfiction that were, in fact, complete fabrications, i.e. fiction.
I threw away 300 pages of the novel I'd been working on for three years and still haven't told my agent.
It wasn't exactly lying when I wrote that controversial scene in my memoir; let's say I wildly exaggerated.
Every time I pay a $3 reading fee to a literary magazine, I roundly curse everyone on the masthead for being such greedy little fuckers.
I look down on everyone who self-publishes as being untalented hacks.
I secretly hope my writing friends are only moderately successful so I don't have to struggle with jealousy.
Sometimes when I'm reading a children's book to my kids, I feel like the author has written better prose than anything in my novel-in-progress.
At the 2013 AWP writing conference, I got propositioned by someone who knew I was married.
After I got cancer, I never wanted to write again. It just seemed so pointless.
I made more money writing erotica under a pseudonym than my last three literary novels.
I haven't read a book in six months.
I often masturbate after writing a sex scene.
90% of the time I have nothing worth saying.
When I got my first publication I played Michael Jackson's "Bad" in my car with the windows rolled down and a cigarette between my teeth. I haven't written much since then.
Though a gentile, I write wearing a yarmulke I received at a Jewish wedding. I figure channeling generations of Hebrew gag writers can't hurt.
I think Jack Kerouac is a terrible writer.
I teach creative writing and don't know the first thing about writing a good story.
I became a writer because I was too shy to speak.
In this overly connected world of social media, I am becoming more and more bored with everything and everybody.
I think I'm too fat to be a writer.
I hate words.
I can't write a word when it's nice outside.
I simultaneously submit to places where you are not allowed to simultaneously submit.
I'm afraid I'm pandering to an audience that I know will like my work. I don't want to be a sell out.
I study poetry for a living, but I only really like my own.
I stopped writing during my depression because it just felt pointless.
I told my husband that the angry, vengeful character in my new novel was based on a former boyfriend, but it really was based on him.
That trip to Panama that I told the IRS was for research? Well, let's just say my novel is set in Tennesee.
I'm too embarrassed to tell people I write poetry.
I can't make anything work. I have nothing to say anymore.
I entered a NAPOWRIMO chapbook contest and haven't written anything yet. It's 27 days into the month.
When I'm on antidepressants I can't write or create anything -- so I don't take them.
I went to a used bookstore. It reeked of rotting text and I'm terrified that's what my writing will become.
In college, feeling uninspired, I took song lyrics, rewrote them into a poem, and claimed it as my own.
I haven't read most of the books I own.
My self-published genre fiction novel has managed to do what nearly zero of my MFA peers have done in the last 15 years: make money and sell thousands of copies.
When my girlfriend got published in a lit mag we both submitted to, and I didn't, I almost decided to give up on poetry.
I wrote my first novel after my child died, and I convinced myself that giving birth to a book would alleviate the pain.
I don't write every day.
I think having children will ruin my career.
I only get to write every day and be successful because of my spouse.
Sometimes I don't want to just escape into my writing, I want to live there.
I only write when my spirit is led to do so.
I only write poetry because I'm too chickenshit to sing and play music.
I am doing it for the money.
My friends' published novels are okay. I just wish they had let me edit them.
I don't like the language I write in.
I thought erotica was easy to write, but my first story got rejected because the sex was unbelievable. My friend told me, "You can only write what you know."
A friend stole my idea and didn't give me credit. Since he's not a good enough friend to confront, I'm letting him and the idea go.
I rarely read whole books, I can't stand most of what's published in this century, and I read about one book a year.
Four days ago I sent my manuscript to my editor and after my brief elation I have been haunted by all the blathering redundancy he'll expose.
I've been working on a novel for almost 8 years and haven't finished it yet.
I write advertising.
I write fictional novels but don't bother to read them. 90% of my reading is interesting non-fiction books.
I write to make my high school sweetheart lonesome for me.
My writing workshop friends use lines or images from my poetry in their own, and it pisses me off.

Submit Your Anonymous Confession

Anonymous Confessions Writers

 

Read a confession, write a confession.

Some people have called this “Post Secret for Writers.”

Like what you see? Sign up for a monthly dose of literary challenges, author interviews and video advice from Bookfox.




View previous campaigns.