 If you’ve followed my emails this year, you know that my writing hasn’t gone quite the way I had hoped. I had planned that I would complete my first fantasy novel this year, and it would be THE ONE. (Whatever that means.) I didn’t expect perfection, or at least that’s what I told myself. But I did expect smooth sailing. After all, I’d drafted six publishable novels before this. I would pitch THE ONE, and, if I acknowledged my wildest dreams, I’d publish THE ONE. None of that happened. THE ONE joined the sad collection of brilliant concepts that I gave up halfway through. Something was off and I couldn’t put my finger on what. Not even five years ago, I was finishing novels left and right. I still looked back on those stories and characters and loved the work I did. Now, even when I did struggle through a story and reach the end, I didn’t even like it all that much. I could see the glimmer of something good deep inside them, but they fell far short of all I dreamed they would be. I’d lost that connection that I once had. And now I couldn’t even finish a story. I felt like I’d lost the ability to write. No. Worse than that. I felt like I’d lost my creativity, my ability to create a story and a world and characters. I couldn’t remember a time when I couldn’t write. I’d always had that ability. Stories had always been there. I’d always been writing one story or another. And now when people asked about my writing, I had nothing to show for my hours and hours of work. I felt like I was letting someone down somewhere. I was letting myself down. I know I’ve said a lot about myself, but maybe you can relate, too. Something you could do once is gone, and it feels like it’s taken a part of you with it. Lots of factors can cause this, some of them serious. So I’m not at all saying this discussion will cure it all. There are things that are bigger than what we can handle alone. So I asked my writing mentors and instructors how they handled it. Was this even a normal feeling? Turns out it was. And each instructor, without fail, said I needed to step back. That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to push forward! I wanted to accomplish things! I wanted to impress all those people who were waiting on me to do something spectacular! I watched so many good opportunities slide past. I felt like I was missing out and left behind. But the advice didn’t change—take a step back. Reconnect with what I love. Why did I love those early stories I wrote? Why did I love writing? What would keep me going when it wasn’t fun or easy anymore? So reluctantly, I cleared all the big writing projects I’d hoped to complete this summer. I decided to use these months to write whatever interested me at the time. I can’t speak to the long term effects of this approach. But I can say that I have had a lot more fun with my writing sessions, the way I used to. But I want to focus on something else for a moment. When I was most discouraged, I thought I would never complete another story I loved ever again. (My brain is quite the drama queen.) My brain confused the fact that I couldn’t write right now with the idea that I never would again. But like I said, I’d always been able to write. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it yet. I already had. So didn’t I need to just push through and do it? To quit being lazy? Enter Pilates. Since I’ve had more time during the summer, I’ve been working out more. And nowhere was this “not yet” concept illustrated more clearly than during Pilates. Of course I had a rough first couple days. But I slowly built more muscle and stamina, until I could hold the stretches as long as the instructor. Which made me even more frustrated when I couldn’t. I mean, this was ridiculous! I could hold a perfect bridge yesterday. Why not today? There were lots of reasons why. Maybe I hadn’t slept well. Maybe I’d been more active than usual the day before. Maybe I was sick. Maybe there was no reason! (That was the one that infuriated me the most.) Pilates stresses listening to your body. Not in a creepy “I can heal myself with my mind” way—paying attention to which muscles hurt, which areas feel good, where I’m struggling, where I’m getting stronger. I’ve learned to notice where I can challenge myself and where I need rest so I don’t hurt myself. Crazy thing—God designed our bodies like that. When I write, I can listen to my brain and to my heart. What can I do today? Where can I stretch? Where do I need rest? So I did what I could do that day. And sometimes the next day I still struggled. But sometimes the next day I could do it again. And during a Pilates class, I finally realized. Writing might be hard now. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t write at all. I could do what I was able to right then. And just because it’s hard right now doesn’t mean that I’ll never create a story again. It means I can’t right now, and I need to rest and slowly build those muscles again. I wasn’t a Pilates failure because I couldn’t hold one particular stretch. I could do an easier stretch instead. I could take a break. It didn’t matter. I was working out, I was getting stronger, and I was having fun. So I couldn’t draft a full length novel right now. But I could write a short story. I could play around with new ideas. I could revisit old characters. It didn’t matter. I was writing, I was being creative, and I was having fun. Just because I can’t do it today doesn’t mean I never will. Just because I could do it yesterday doesn’t mean I have to do it today. I don’t know what your thing is—whether art or exercise or work or something completely different. But what has been true for me these past months is true for you, too. Just because you can’t do it today doesn’t mean you never will. Rest if you need rest, and reconnect with why you love whatever it is. It will come back when you’re ready. Challenge yourself a little bit at a time. You’ll get there soon enough. Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult/new adult fantasy novels that walk the line between the darker elements of fantasy and the weirder elements of cartoons. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming. Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want, plus maybe a metaphor about grief? Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates about what I’m reading, watching, and writing. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there!
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