I have a hard time letting go.
Not only of mementos and clutter—I toe nimbly along the line between whimsy and hoarding—but people, experiences, phases of life. It’s hard to accept that things end. Lovers leave, friendships fade, people die, old haunts shut down, a job becomes unbearable. I know I’m not alone, but I suspect I’m on the extreme end of the spectrum.
Even when things end for a good reason, part of me expects to return one day and find the situations and emotions undiminished. There is no breakup I haven’t reconsidered, no relocation I haven’t regretted, no friends I don’t miss. I daydream of hitting the lottery so I can buy up every house I’ve ever rented and re-open all my favorite long-gone joints.
I insist on going home again.
Years before I started blogging, I had my own small press. I published a few issues of some magazines and a half dozen anthologies. I set it aside when I started my last job, with the intention that the pause was only temporary. Unfortunately, that job quickly turned into both a time and emotional suck and a few months’ hiatus became a year, then two, now eight.
I always meant to get back to publishing, but now I acknowledge that it won’t happen. It could happen, but it’s very, very unlikely. I spent 20-30 hours per week reading submissions, designing books, proofreading, dealing with printers, keeping up with the website, planning for book fairs and cons, and robbing Peter to pay for it all. This did not leave much time for a social or creative life. I watched as writers who had their first paying publication in one of my collections go on to publish in high-end markets and even land book deals. That was hard, even though I loved my writers and was always very happy for them (and yes, I always thought of them as my writers…). I’ve lost touch with most of them. A few have passed. I miss them all.
But as much as I loved my small press, I also like going out once in a while and I value my writing time. I can’t have it all.
And that’s ok. Because nothing can take away the experience or the accomplishment. I had always wanted to run a small press and so I did it, A to Z, nuts and bolts, business and creative. And I have all the books on my shelf and they are currently still in print.
I’ve also learned that I can’t have everything creatively. I love to write and draw, but I’ll never be as good as I’d like to be. Running a theater group and an art gallery were on my list for a long time, but those don’t interest me as much.
I only have so much time. Many of my story ideas that will never get past the short paragraph written in my journal. There are others that I don’t have the skill to finesse. My ego would like to see my name on a Big Thinking Man Novel, but I know who I am and that’s not me. I thrive in the crevices, writing about people who could be decent if the world would let them, if they could just get the hang of it. I like those people.
I’m still learning when to give up on a story in progress. A number of years ago, I wrote a novel that I submitted to the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards (remember that?). I was invested in that story. I made it round 2 or 3, which wasn’t as good as winning, but I was still proud of it. For somewhere around 8 years, I wrote and rewrote and edited and cut and pasted, but never really pulled it together. It was an ambitious novel – cross genre, multiple POV characters, a funky story world, a setting with deep history. I always planned to go back it, but my small press took up my time and one year became two, which became ten, etc. etc.
Maybe I’ll go back to it. I’m more likely to revisit that story than I am to start publishing other people again. But if I don’t, then I accept that too. I have a folder on my laptop with ideas and story prompts I’ve been saving for 30 years. I won’t write a tenth of those, either.
This is on my mind lately, for a number of reasons. Everything ends, either the things around us or eventually…us. I’ve been struggling with the novel I started back in…honestly, I don’t even want to look at the file dates. I haven’t given up, but I’m also stuck on some foundational elements. So, now I have the question – Am I working through a challenge or am I victim to the sunk cost fallacy?
Tiffany Yates Martin talks about giving up in this recent post on her blog. “If you are letting go of a project or pursuit that no longer serves you, do it with joy, not sadness,” she wrote. “With pride, not defeat, and excitement, not resignation.” This also applies to work we won’t call “finished” but which we should release out into the world so that we can move on to something fresh. Yes, guilty.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
TYM confesses that she stopped writing fiction a few years ago, in favor of her work as a writing coach, teacher, and editor. She might go back to writing or she might not, but for now, she doesn’t miss it.
I’m not as bold as her – I will never give up writing. I go a little nuts when I don’t have the time or energy to write. As I told my ex years ago: “Do you want me taking dictation from the voices in my head or do you want me taking orders?” A creative Will is a happy Will.
But, I will remind myself to avoid the sunk cost fallacy when a story is not working or when it’s not serving my creativity. As long as I feel challenged by a problem, I’m ok to continue, but when I feel defeated or that I’d rather not write today, thanks – then it’s time to switch it up.
I haven’t given up on the novel in progress. There’s something about it that makes me itchy and I want to work through it. But I have back-burnered it for now. I give maybe 10% of my writing time to working out those story problems and put the rest towards some shorter projects, including a novella I’m close to wrapping up. This new project has been fun to write – one POV character, a small cast, a short timeline, and a fantasy setting so my research is minimal. I’ll post here when I have something to share.
If you’ve given up on a project, join me and do it with gusto.