When you stop daydreaming and talking about your art, no one cares. In fact, no one cares if you stop making your art. Perhaps they will mention it to you in passing-- if they are a good friend. Mostly though, the only person who is going to care is you. In fact, you might not care either.
I recently finished a novel that took seven years to get to the final draft. I can't find an agent or a publisher for it. I know I should just self-publish it, but I'm terrified of that level of responsibility. If everyone hates it, or worse, doesn't even notice it, it's no one's failure but my own.
So rather than keep writing. I put myself in a holding pattern. I stopped. Because really... who cares? Life gets in the way sometimes. There are events that bring us to an uncomfortable stasis. There are simply times when other aspects of our life take precedence over creating something new. And you know what? That is perfectly okay. It isn't constant forward motion towards goals and creativity that matters. When you think about it, that sort of consistency simply isn't a reality in any aspect of the natural world. Nothing is constant. Everything cycles.
What matters is that you always start again.
It's okay to stop. The only thing that is not okay is to never start again. It's just that starting again is the hardest thing that artists do.
My mom said something to me a couple of weeks ago that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. She said that resistance is actually our greatest supporter. If there was no resistance to making art, then everyone would do it. If everyone could do it, then it would have no value. Our value is in our battle against resistance.
And, damn, resistance is real. Creativity is not a line factory. You can't force a high level of productivity. You can't even force vacations. They just happen. All you can do is take every moment as it comes, try to be creative or blow it off. Either choice, it's only the trying that matters. It's the trying that slowly shapes itself into a completed project.
So, the internal battle is real. And every battle, every small skirmish won is a noble victory. Resistance is a worthy foe because it never gives up, ever. Resistance is our most beloved enemy. So here I am, tugging on my chainmail and smiling fondly back at it.
Hi! I'm back. I missed you. And I hope you're listening.
This is a newsletter. I wrote it. My novel We Were Wilder is up for pre-order. I am relinquishing it to whatever its fate in the world may be and writing the next book in the trilogy.
And I hope that I just reminded you that time is patient and ready for your "next thing" too, even though no one has noticed that you haven't done it yet.
xxR
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We Were Wilder An experiment in "re-wilding" the western United States and reviving the environment seems a stunning success -- at first. A virus spread by the predators and prey relocated and now thriving in the West devastates the adult human population, raging out of control and reshaping the county. Cordoned off to separate the now much smaller populace from the dangers of virus-spreading wildlife, 100 years later, "National Park West" has become as wild as and even more dangerous than it was when Lewis and Clark first mapped the West.
When Imogen "Genny" Jones, a 24-year-old headstrong virologist hears rumors of a vaccine at an abandoned CDC lab, she sets out on a journey to find a cure. Walking 700 miles through the now forbidden wilderness, she struggles to survive ravenous predators, harsh weather, starvation, and sickness. Finding companionship in savvy feral dog and an orphaned cheetah cub, she also discovers the wonder of the new wild, strength, and peace. Yet, she soon discovers that her world may need a lot more than a cure to a virus and she may not be the hero it needs.
