So which novel are you working on right now? (or, my current identity crisis)

I’m having an existential crisis about fiction. Pull up a chair and let me tell you about it.

I didn’t write for a couple of years recently, from approximately fall 2019-fall 2021. I couldn’t. I was malnourished, dehydrated, just really really sick, and many days I struggled to find the cognitive function to simply write a short work email. When I got my feeding tube in summer 2021, suddenly my brain started working again (crazy how nutrition will do that for ya) and I had the most glorious time plowing through finishing Things We’ve Lost (see below, two pictures I love–when I went on a solo author research day trip to my favorite place in the world to get a few final details, and when I sent the manuscript to my beta readers the week of Thanksgiving).

Next, from approximately January to May 2022, I wrote The Art of Staying. I haven’t touched it since finishing that first draft (a full year ago now), but I do think about it a lot. I have fond memories of drafting it, and since this was the first novel I’ve ever truly plotted out (thank you, Save the Cat), I’m curious (and hopeful) to see how strong the structure is when I do go back and edit it.

But that’s when things started to get dicey. I developed yet another chronic condition in May 2022 (or at least, that’s when the symptoms first became noticeable). It impacted my already severe chronic fatigue like never before, and once again, my brain was struggling to function. I doggedly pushed my way through Things We’ve Lost edits last summer and then started querying it (I sent the first query, in September 2022, literally from a bed in the ER, which I feel like is so on brand).

I got a strong official start on my middle grade novel Butterfly Island in September (which I’d initially caught the spark for back in February), but only got about 20,000 words in before, by early November or so, I was really struggling to continue.

From January to March I let myself have a little fun and start playing with a YA contemporary called This One Is True. While I enjoyed and liked the ~15,000 words I wrote, I found that I was usually only able to work on it once a week, which just wasn’t often enough for me to keep up my momentum. I used to write fiction in the evening hours–anywhere between 4-8 PM, several days a week–but my brain and body just can’t do that right now. The condition I developed a year ago is better controlled than it used to be, but treatment isn’t fully working, and it still impacts me a lot (unpredictably so) every day.

I also got kind of disillusioned with querying Things We’ve Lost. I sent out approximately 30 queries from September to December and received approximately 15 responses–all rejections. Rejections are fine; rejections are expected. The problem is that I know my query letter is absolutely watertight. It’s a good query letter. I’m a good writer with impressive experience. But if my query letter isn’t the issue… that means the story is (and a couple of agents said as much). I think it moves too slowly and isn’t exciting enough; it’s too “quiet.” And frankly, I’m not going to go back into Things We’ve Lost and cut it up and make major changes. I know myself, and I know that I’m just not. I don’t want to. I’ve done many rounds of edits on this book (and I HATE editing–I’ll do anything to avoid editing something I’ve written), and as much as I would love to see it published, I also want to move on and write new stories. I will always love Things We’ve Lost with my whole heart and I hope it will be in your hands one day, but it just doesn’t feel like the right season or the right time to go back to it right now.

So now I find myself writing “novel” (notice that the title of said novel is unspecified) on my to-do list every weekend, but not working on any of my fiction, and then feeling guilty about it all week. And so the problem that I’m left with is the question: Am I writing fiction right now? If so, what am I writing? If not, is that okay?

I’m so much happier when I’m writing fiction. Truly, sitting under my double windows with a good WIP playlist and my fairy lights and the scented candle I chose specifically for that novel, making up stories–there is nowhere else I’d rather be. It makes me the happiest person in the world. Well, except for when it doesn’t–like when it just makes my body and brain feel physically worse, and it’s like pulling teeth to drag coherent sentences onto the page, and when I read what I’ve written I’m sent into this spiral of oh, I can’t write fiction anymore (I can, I’m just so very tired and sick)…

So I’m also trying to get it into my apparently thick skull that it is indeed okay if I am unable to write fiction for a while, or if I choose to focus on other things. I’m still being creative in multiple ways every day. I wrote ten pieces for Escapril and I’m proud of them all. I’m getting dates on the calendar to start learning about how to record my music. I want to spend every spare moment collaging envelopes. I’m enjoying making YouTube videos. Of course I’m constantly consuming story and art, listening to music and reading books (although sadly, I haven’t been able to watch a single movie yet this year). And I also run a business (which is 100% focused on writing) and have a social life and, of course, live with chronic illness–and I only have so much capacity, physically, mentally, creatively.

And, too, I know I’ll come back. Of course I’ll be back. Truly, I can’t stay away (just yesterday I was looking for something else and discovered a random voice memo on my phone with an idea for a novel that made me want to drop everything and write it right then. Who knows, maybe I’ll start it this weekend and become obsessed with it and this entire post will be moot. Just reading the Butterfly Island summary when I linked that post up top a minute ago made me squeal out loud). Even though I’ve always been a writer and novelist, I’ve gone through many periods in my life where I didn’t write for a couple of weeks, months, or even years. But then I always came back.

Not writing fiction for a while (even for a long while) doesn’t mean I’m not a fiction writer. It just means I’m trying my best to be faithful with all of the obligations, priorities, constraints, and desires that make up my life–and there are a lot of them. And whenever I do start drafting or editing a novel again, I’ll be a stronger writer because of the creative cross-training I’ve done and the life experiences I’ve lived. As Nadine Brandes and Sara Ella said in one of their webinars once, writing is so much more than putting words on a page. Your writing toolbox comes from living life.

So obviously, it’s “okay” to not write fiction for a while. Honestly, those questions I listed above sounded kind of ridiculous once I typed them out. I guess I’m just being your typical enneagram 3 who can’t seem to separate their worth/sense of self from what they do/accomplish/produce, and I needed to process it somewhere other than my journal (because typing goes much faster than writing by hand). And if you’re a fellow artist or creative, maybe you got something out of this, too.

I think a lot of us who have a half dozen creative passions go through this realization as we reach adulthood–that, suddenly, there are many more demands on our time and energy than there used to be, and maybe the days of constant content creation for ourselves are over. It’s a natural shift, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it. Wouldn’t it be a great world if we didn’t have to have corporate jobs, or remember to update our renter’s insurance, or make that Amazon return–we could just lounge around all day every day watching fan edits of our favorite fictional love interests (because that 1000% counts as writing)? But unfortunately, we now have adult lives to live. I believe it’s possible to sustain a creative career and/or have creative hobbies at the same time. You just can’t do all of the creative things at once. Life comes in seasons and knowing what season you’re living right now is an important kind of discernment to have.

So, there you go. In a very rambling and roundabout way, that’s what I’ve been feeling and that’s what I’m trying to tell myself about it. It’s okay if, for whatever reason, I am not able to (or even–gasp–if I choose not to) work on fiction for a while. I’m still a novelist. I’m still me. And my stories will be waiting for me whenever I come back.

“So what if it takes you five years to finish your current novel? Be willing to wait the wait. Publishing will always be there. Unless you’re on deadline, time is not the enemy in writing.” – Nadine and Sara

So that’s my current identity crisis hahaha, thanks for listening! Have you ever struggled with something similar as a creative? How have you dealt with it?