Everything Needs to Stop
What to Do When it Doesn’t
The difference between how my first novel was created, vs the ones that came after, is a contract.
When I wrote what would become Road Out of Winter, it was unaccepted, un-agented. I threw it into the world like desperation spaghetti onto the wall, and after years and about seven other unpublished novel manuscripts, I doubted this one would stick. It did stick, though.
And that means all my novels since have been finished under a time crunch. They’ve been under contract, which means I don’t have all the time in the world. I have a very limited amount of time to write them, finalize them, and turn them in.
I wish I had more. I really wish I had uninterrupted time, hours to do nothing except think. My brain is weeping for it, but I do not have it. Everything needs to stop for me to do the work I’m desperate to do, but it’s not going to. Unless I win the lottery, a MacArthur, or suddenly meet a rich and supportive spouse, it’s never going to stop.
So, the only way I have found to get my work done in this life of being single, poor, untenured, and a parent is to make somebody mad.
To be a person who does anything of note in this life is to have someone mad at you.
Somebody’s not going to have their needs met immediately. Something is getting neglected and it’s not going to be my book.
I’ve never been a fast emailer. Do you want to be known for your emails or your art? My friends know I may not text them back instantly. Do you want a fast texter or a forever friend? My house is a mess. The bills are unpaid. I have so much dirty laundry I am running out of clothes.
But I finished edits for The Raven Engagement.
There are still small line edits and copyedits to go, but the round I dread the most—big picture content edits—are over. I took off three days from my day job. It was all I had. I skipped out on volunteering, turned down dinner with my friends, did not go on hikes, did not watch movies. Do I believe these things make my life (and my work) better? Absolutely. But I had to let them go for a little while. I haven’t planted for the spring. I’m not getting as much sleep as I could, though as a person with a chronic illness, that’s a tricky one.
I refuse to neglect my kid and I try not to neglect my health. Everything else is fair game for temporary neglect in the service of a greater good.
When I started to work as an editor, I realized part of the job is that someone is going to be mad at you at all times. You haven’t returned their edits fast enough or they didn’t like your feedback or you have to turn down a pitch. To be a person who does anything of note in this life is to have someone mad at you. If someone’s not mad at you, what are you even doing?
You’re playing it safe, and you’re prioritizing others’ needs over your own.
You can alternate who’s mad at you, what you’re neglecting. And sometimes both of those things are you. You need to let that go too.
I was never going to be the mom who brought a homemade cake for the school carnival. I was never going to win the cookie exchange. I was never going to grow prize-winning roses. I was never going to be the boss. What I am going to do is make some damn fine art, and show up for my kid and my community in real ways that matter.
One lesson chronic illness has taught me is prioritizing. Is clean hair today worth the two hours I need to lie down after taxing my heart in a shower? Is the time and exhaustion I expend cooking more valuable than paying for carryout tonight?
The first time I remember becoming very ill was in college with mono, foreshadowing the Long COVID to come. One of my most supportive professors told me to give it the ten year test. Will this matter in ten years, that I had to temporarily leave school to get better? No.
Will it matter that my hair is pretty overgrown right now, that we had dino chicken nuggets and French fries twice this week? No. Will it matter that I wrote this book? Yes, yes it will.
Let them be mad. Write your damn book.
💘