Photo by Christa Dodoo on Unsplash
I’ve been in a slump recently. Dragging my feet across all metrics, staring at manuscripts, books to-read, blinking cursors on blank pages. I lost it, the urge to keep going, keep writing. Putting one word down, and then the next, seemed so insurmountable. One brick at a time, build that wall.
I think there’s only so many failures most people can take before it grinds them down. The threshold is different for everyone, but there’s a threshold nonetheless. I was confident I’d hit it. Tired of trudging through the muck, knee deep and going nowhere.
And then I ran into this twitter thread, from an account I’d barely ever heard of. For some reason, it flipped a switch. Wtf was I doing? Agonizing over whether my work was good or bad, if it would fit this market or that. I’d lost the plot, started comparing myself to other writers, convinced there was nowhere to go but down.
Fuck it. Make art. Make bad art. Make shit, and then make shit again and again. And when you’re done, start over and make more shit. Just keep making.
I guess sometimes we really do need to hear it from someone else. To see there are others going through the same thing you are. We’re all trudging through the muck together, it doesn’t benefit anyone—least of all yourself—to stop. Keep moving forward, keep making, inch by inch. We’ll build that wall, make some shit, then do it again.
Anyway, I’m probably self-publishing another novella early next year. So subscribe or whatever if you want to know when it happens.
