Freedom From Writing

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She said WHAT?!

Freedom from writing?

Not freedom to write?

What kind of Fourth of July post is this? Is she even American? Maybe Trump should deport her.

Aren’t I supposed to be an encouraging writing coach, giving you a post about, I don’t know, quitting your day job and really giving writing your all? Telling you that, when it all comes down to it, the artist’s life really is worth it, even though, as writer Elizondo Griest says, it really is “the ultimate hazing experience?”

Yeah, no. You’re not getting that post from me today.

Happy motherloving Fourth.

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“But I’m rocking the writing thing!”

If you are on the joyful major flow writing train right now—honey, ride that all the way to Oz. Collect $200 each time you pass Go! I am cheering you on. I’m here for your plan to write the novel, get the agent, and putting NYT Bestseller on your vision board. Let’s do this thing. It’s gonna happen to someone, so let’s make it you. Speaking as one of the 0.01% of all people that ever get major book deals from major publishers, I will never be a dream scoffer. Dreams can come true and to normal girls like me who used to get the free school lunch.

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But if you are not on that train, and writing has become not just a chore but something that is kind of causing you actual suffering…keep reading. Let’s see where you’re at and what’s going on.

This is what my family might call a Come To Jesus Meeting, y’all.

Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

Permission not to write.

Do you need it? Do you need freedom from writing? Every now and then I write a post like this because I know there are a few writers (nay, more than a few) who might need to read it. I’m not talking to you if, when you actually sit down to write, you’re in your happy place. You might be miserable trying to get to the damn chair—any number of things will keep you from it and you might blame yourself for all those ways you or your inner critic or your kids or your day job or to-do list keep you from scribbling away. Sometimes, it really feels like the universe is conspiring to keep us from our work.

But, if when you sit down, you sink right in and you’re just loving being with your words, don’t take a break from writing. Don’t stop being a writer.

No matter how many rejections you get. No matter how many haters are out there (even if that hater is you). Keep writing. This is where I pull out the quote that is in my email signature—I will never get sick of it, and I hope you, my dearest readers, never get sick of it either (thank you to Howard Thurman for dropping this wisdom):

Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because the world needs people who have come alive.

So the only question you really need to ask yourself today is: Does writing make you come alive?

Don’t answer this question right away. Don’t say what you should say. Really ask yourself this. What does “come alive” look like for you? And does writing do that? What’s the ratio of “come alive” to not come alive? Like, if you were in marriage counseling with your writing…would you stay or would you go? Are you hearing me on this? You used to love each other. Are you staying together for the kids now?

Sunk cost is a real thing.

It can be so hard to walk away from something that we have invested a lot of time, money, and social currency in. So many of us have wrapped up our identities in “I am a writer.”

Deciding not to write, to walk away for now, for a month, the summer, the rest of the year, or forever, isn’t something you have to decide all at once.

But for those of you who have begun to have a niggling feeling that you just don’t love this anymore…I want to tell you that it’s okay. It’s absolutely okay to walk away. Or even to just think about it. That might be scary and hard enough to do.

I have met too many writers who are deeply unhappy.

The publishing industry has stolen their hope, comparison has become the thief of their joy, technology and social media has completely eradicated their plans of ever being able to just be a writer—now they must be a marketer and content strategist and publisher, too. They keep chasing trends, they keep looking for shortcuts, they want to be patient but they don’t have time. They want to make space for writing, but they just can’t. When they do sit down to write, there’s no joy. Or maybe they have been working so hard for so long and it’s just not happening. All the rejections. They’re so tired. It can be so hard to walk away, especially if they’ve invested in an MFA or have already published. They often feel pressure from partners or feel so much shame—they’ve had high hopes, have talked about their book to all their friends and family. Spent thousands of dollars. They’ve been doing this for years. How can they just…walk away? They’d be a failure. A quitter. Right? Wrong. But it takes a lot of support to understand that.

Then there’s another group of writers, people who may never have really been honest-to-goodness writers in the first place. They could have chosen anything, really.

In many ways, writing is a means to an end—they see writing as a portal into something else they want.

Most of the time, they don’t realize this. It’s not so much the writing that matters. It’s the thing they think the writing will bring that they are really chasing: accomplishment, self-worth, recognition. I wrote a book. Those are powerful words to be able to say. So are: I’m an author. Imagining saying that to the mother who thought you couldn’t measure up to your brother or to the college friend who is a lawyer or to people you meet at parties. It’s like a spell. People have the idea that writing a book is easy, a quick fix. Easier than starting a successful business or becoming a painter or landing a role in a movie. Self-pub has expanded this idea. But the deeper these people get into the writing world and learn what it means to sit in that chair day in and day out…it’s a rude awakening.

When Writing Makes You Come Alive

The writers who are most fulfilled are the ones who have managed to shut out the noise, who are deeply invested in growing as artists, and who are finding community. They are tapped into their purpose and are less concerned with publishing and more concerned with discovering their voice and saying what they believe they have been put on this planet to say. They are willing to let the chips fall where they may. It is very hard to do this. They are good teachers to me!

The writers who find joy despite tough writing days and times they are stuck are the ones who are curious and playful, who will fill the well when they are uninspired, who see writing as a spiritual practice, as an essential part of their life. For them, writing is like breathing, it’s a huge part of who they are. To not write would be like asking them to not read. They think in writing, in story. It’s just who they are. That’s not to say they aren’t kaleidoscopic. They are also many other things.

They have big dreams, too. Of course they want the book deals and all that. They might even have them. Or the movies—they might have those too. But once they get them, it’s back to the work. Because they love it. When they get frustrated, it’s not at the work, it’s at the industry, the system.

So Now What?

Let’s start here:

When I say, “You can stop writing if you want to. It’s okay. It’s no failure on your part.”….How does it make you feel?

If you feel:

Tight, panicky, sad, heavy, sick, not good….

Maybe you’re just burned out and need a break. Something isn’t working and it’s keeping you from feeling alive as a writer, but it doesn’t actually have to do with writing itself. Somehow the joy has been lost. It could just mean you’ve lost your mojo and need to get it back and then you’ll go right back to writing. If that’s the case, I can help! You can also check out my post on sports psychology for writers.

If you feel:

Relief, Lighter, More expansive, Like you can breathe easier, Strange, Laughter, Nervous, Tingling…

If so…explore that. It could mean that you’re ready to put down your pen. Maybe not for good, but possibly for now. Maybe you just need permission to know you’re allowed to. That it’s your choice.

What would you rather be doing? (Does that question excite you?)

If you weren’t writing, what would you be doing instead?

It might be kind of nice not to be feeling bad all the time about not writing. Feeling guilty, feeling like you’re not far enough along. I don’t know. What would take its place, in terms of giving you something to channel your creativity and longing and holy fury? How would you set the world to rights and do right by the miracle if you weren’t writing? How would the world express itself through you?

We were never meant to do this alone.

Nobody becomes a writer because it’s fun and games.

There are some writers who say it is. They are unicorns. If you meet them, ask them if they know where the Holy Grail is, while you’re at it.

For the rest of us civilians, we need each other to lean on. That’s why the Lotus and Pen exists!

Some of you come to write precisely because it’s what sets you free. It’s your sanctuary. It’s where you fled the moment you burst through the bars of your cage. I know that was the case for me. But we often run from one prison right into another—frequently one of our own making. Wherever you go there you are, and all that.

We work on the page with the material of our own messy matter. It’s very courageous to sit down with the ink of our own past and present, of our very selves, using the colors of our feelings and thoughts and experiences.

So, if you’re feeling some wear and tear halfway through 2025, that’s to be expected. Take a knee, take care of yourself. It’s totally normal to have rough writing days (including days when you don’t have time to write) and to doubt, from time to time, if you can keep going. This post has some very practical supports for you that you can use right away. Next month I’ll be doing a special workshop that includes a sound bath and working through our intentions for the rest of the year. In October, an evening of tarot. In December, a winter solstice Mini Cozy retreat! Plus, a Well Gathering on the first Sunday of each month beginning in August (details coming soon). Community care, mutual aid, and other scaffolding is how we get through this. Sharing book recommendations (striking out on my summer reads so far, but can’t recommend Tricia Hersey’s We Will Rest enough!), enlivening podcasts that get our imaginations swirling, great music stations to write to, films to watch…I could go on with all the ways we try to inspire and help one another stay curious and informed and excited about the world and our work.

Courage, dear heart.

Photo by Guilherme Stecanella on Unsplash

But after a rest, if you still feel shredded and ragged….If you really think, nope, I’m really ready to shut it down…

It’s absolutely okay to say:

You know what, this isn’t very fun. This is actually fucking miserable. I’m tired of sitting here and creating whole worlds out of nothing but the frayed threads of my trauma and memory and imagination. I’m tired of it being judged by randos in New York who might take upwards of a year to infinity to maybe read or not read what I’ve spent half my life writing. I’d rather be doing almost anything than sitting in front of a bloody screen for hours on end, ignoring everyone I love to make shit up that maybe no one will ever read. I’d rather go paint dachshunds and rescue kittens.

Yes! Clarity is GOLD. Onward, my beloved! Go do what makes you come alive. You will have a ball trying to figure out what that is. Also, it might kind of horrible, but that’s okay too. Mazel tov. I am so happy that you will get to be happy. Writing will always be here for you if you want to come back. It’s not going anywhere.

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

On the other hand, it is ALSO absolutely okay to say:

You know what, the odds are totally against me. Making art makes no sense in a late-stage capitalist world and yet I totally love making up worlds and lives and stories out of nothing and just myself. It’s literally free to make up a story. It doesn’t require any materials or anyone else but me. I can tell them around a campfire, or to myself as I fall asleep. If I were in prison, I’d always have stories to comfort me, or others. I could feed myself with stories, like a bard, in a post-apocalyptic world. And self-pub has made things weird, but I kind of like that we’re sticking it to the man, too. When I write in my journals, I think about who might find them in like hundreds of years, when all the machines aren’t working. Maybe my work will be in archives of the future. Maybe I’ll be famous long after I’m dead. I’d rather write than be on social or watching TV or doing any number of the stupid things people do to “pass time” these days. I like befriending my mind. Knowing my mind. Making my mark on the world. I like that there are people who start making art later in their lives, and that it ends up taking them to unexpected places. And if we all quit making art, then we won’t have it. It’s like that sticker.

Designed and sold by m95sim

See? You could really go either way. You would be making valid points. And maybe, for you, there is a middle way. I don’t know. Only you do. Right now, things are intense, so I would say, no need to make any drastic decisions. Just see how this post makes you feel.

If you feel like you DO love writing and want to just love into it, then you’ll be excited about my post next week, where I’m sharing about my writing apprenticeship! And if you need a break from writing, then isn’t it a relief to know you don’t have to wonder if you should do that? Huzzah! No guilt! No shame! Go rescue kittens or paint dachshunds.

Here’s to whatever makes you come alive,