2025 has been a lot so far.
January I was underwater editing my book to go out on submission. February (and let’s be real, March, too) I had pneumonia. January, February and March are my kids’ busy months with their indoor percussion group with practices, competitions, and more. My oldest also played pit in his high school musical this winter. And to top it off, we’re still in the midst of supporting him making his college decision.
Once my edits were done, I really wanted to get back into writing in my draft manuscript. But I had a lot of resistance. Even the mornings I felt excited to get back to it, I soon found myself doing something else—anything else—rather than open up the file.
I talked to some fellow writers about it and they had great advice. Advice I’ve given writers. Advice on what the problem might be and ways to go around my resistance to still get in.
But the advice that resonated the most: stop trying.
I know that sounds counterintuitive to what I normally do here, but hear me out.
I wasn’t ready to be back in this new story.
I put aside this story three months ago to dive back into my previous manuscript in order to complete the needed edits. I spent two months deep in those characters’ heads again, characters I knew intimately after more than a year writing and revising that particular manuscript. It was hard to transition back into the world of characters I was just getting to know.
Plus, I was revising a very polished draft and then returning to a brain dump first draft and the fear my abilities wouldn’t hold up was very real.
Add in the existential doubt of going out on submission where I would be facing an all new level of rejection and I was a tangled ball of writer feelings.
I thought when I finished the one story, I should be able to just hop back into the new one. When that started to feel hard, I made up a lot of stories about what that meant about me as a writer.
So, I took my writing friend’s advice and gave myself permission to not open the file.
And it felt great. I worked on other creative projects and just let that simmer. Trusting I would know when I was ready.
A week or two later, I started a writing workshop. I tentatively used this new manuscript as the basis for the homework exercises. It ended up being the perfect way to dip my toes back into that story world, reintroduce myself to these characters, and look with purpose, not judgement, at what I’d written already.
I’m feeling less resistance and more excitement.
Finally.
This week, my kids are on spring break. While my winter felt insane, my husband’s was equally demanding (though less cough-y) and more physically busy.
And so we have taken to the sea.
Long walks. Coffee overlooking the ocean. Games. Good food. Great books. We are all just letting the tide do what it does best. Reset.
If you’re feeling resistance in your work, get curious.
Is it a particular part of the manuscript? A character? A scene? Maybe that means you have a mechanical problem in your work you need to suss out.
Is your resistance more in your own head? In other words, are the feelings of self-doubt and imposter syndrome strongest/loudest/ugliest when you sit down to write? Maybe that means you need to remind fear and doubt they have a place on the journey, but not in the driver’s seat. (Recommended reading: Elizabeth Gilbert’s letter to fear in Big Magic).
Or is your resistance like mine? A little nebulous but tracked back to big transitions in your writing life. Perhaps you just need a break.
Once I understood that mine was more about doubt and exhaustion than about a particular story problem (because at this stage, there are many!), it allowed me to treat it with distance and a slow re-entry.
Our resistance is always telling us something. Try to listen. Don’t try to outwit it or explain it or justify it. Invite it to guide you toward the solution.
I’ll keep you posted on how my writing is going once I return to it. Today, however, I think some mini-golf and another long beach walk are in my future.