You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.

You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.

April 27, 2026 · 5 min read

Stephen King and the Courage to Create

Stephen King’s career stands as one of the most remarkable testaments to persistence in American literature, and his assertion that “You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will” encapsulates the philosophy that has driven both his prolific output and his mentorship of emerging writers. This quote emerged from King’s deep understanding of what it takes to succeed as a creative professional, shaped by decades of wrestling with self-doubt, rejection, and the practical challenges of maintaining a writing career while raising a family. The statement carries particular weight coming from someone who has published over 60 novels and 200 short stories, making him one of the most commercially successful authors in history. Yet beneath this success lies a journey that could have ended before it truly began, offering crucial context for understanding why King emphasizes the importance of brave beginnings.

King’s life story reads almost like one of his own novels in terms of the obstacles overcome and the narrow margins separating success from obscurity. Born in Portland, Maine in 1947, King grew up in a working-class household marked by his father’s alcoholism and frequent abandonment, experiences that would later infuse his work with authentic portrayals of family dysfunction and human struggle. He attended the University of Maine, where he began writing prolifically, taking inspiration from the science fiction and horror magazines he devoured as a teenager. After college, King worked as a high school teacher in Boulder, Colorado while writing in his spare time—a period that informed the setting and atmosphere of “The Shining” and demonstrated his willingness to work a full-time job while pursuing his passion. The teaching years were crucial in shaping his belief that anyone with determination could develop their craft, a conviction he would later articulate in his memoir “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft,” which has become nearly as influential as his fiction among aspiring authors.

The real turning point came in 1973 when King sold his first novel, “Carrie,” for a $2,500 advance that was subsequently split with his publisher, leaving him with a meager sum despite the book’s eventual paperback sale for $400,000. This story of near-miss poverty and sudden fortune is often cited as King’s defining moment, yet what deserves equal emphasis is that King had been rejected dozens of times before this breakthrough. He famously wrote “Carrie” in a laundromat while his wife worked double shifts as a nurse, and he nearly abandoned the manuscript because he felt he couldn’t authentically write from a female perspective—it was his wife Tabby who encouraged him to continue and helped him understand the female experience. This crucial support and his own persistence in the face of self-doubt became foundational to King’s worldview. Even after “Carrie” sold, he continued working as a teacher, knowing that artistic success could be fleeting and that financial security mattered for his growing family. This combination of ambition and pragmatism, of believing in his vision while maintaining a realistic grip on material necessity, informs the balanced wisdom of his quote about brave beginnings.

Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, King solidified his status as a master of horror and suspense, but he was simultaneously engaged in a less publicized battle against addiction. King’s struggles with alcohol and drug abuse, which he has spoken about openly in interviews and in “On Writing,” nearly derailed his career and caused immense personal suffering. Yet he emerged from rehabilitation in 1989 and resumed writing with even greater intensity, publishing some of his finest work in the decades that followed. This personal resurrection is crucial to understanding the gravitas of his statement about being brave enough to start: King knew firsthand that new beginnings could come at any point in life, even after failure and degradation. His willingness to publicly discuss his addiction and recovery transformed him from merely a successful entertainer into a figure of genuine inspiration for people struggling with their own demons. The quote takes on deeper meaning when understood through this lens—it becomes not just writerly advice but a statement about human resilience and redemption.

A lesser-known aspect of King’s character that gives his quote special credibility is his genuine engagement with aspiring writers and emerging voices. Unlike many authors of his stature, King has consistently used his platform to advocate for other writers, providing endorsements, mentorship, and encouragement. He taught creative writing seminars, answered fan mail extensively, and later embraced social media to maintain dialogue with readers and writers around the world. In “On Writing,” King dedicates substantial passages to discussing the fundamentals of craft not with condescension but with genuine pedagogical interest, assuming that his readers have both the potential and the right to pursue serious writing. He has championed works by writers from marginalized communities and has been vocal about the need for diverse voices in literature. This commitment to nurturing others’ creative ambitions runs parallel to his own relentless work ethic—he has maintained a disciplined writing schedule for decades, often producing thousands of words daily. King practices what he preaches, and this consistency makes his encouragement carry authentic weight.

The quote’s cultural impact has been particularly pronounced in the age of social media and self-publishing, where King’s words have been endlessly reproduced on inspirational graphics and quoted by aspiring writers seeking validation. In a digital era where the barriers to publication have been dramatically lowered, King’s message resonates powerfully because it acknowledges both the feasibility and the difficulty of creative pursuits. The structure of the statement itself is psychologically astute—moving from simple affirmation (“You can”) to moral imperative (“you should