My body tapped out. Just when I’d finally found a rhythm, posting-schedule confusion and indecision crept in, and illness followed close behind.
Then-my body tapped out.
The Horror of Indecision
Around the start of summer, I started to panic about a book that wasn’t written, a deadline I hadn’t set and others expectations. I became paralyzed by what I should have gotten done — by what projects should already be finished.
That spiral knocked me off track. I stopped writing. I stopped posting.
I wasn’t doing what a writer “should be doing.” In my mind, my turnaround time wasn’t fast enough. The projects I’d been so passionate about starting fell to the back burner — instead of chipping away at one thing at a time, I worked on nothing at all.
That impasse lasted nearly the whole summer, and I seriously toyed with the idea of putting my writing journey on hold to chase something I believed would pay off quicker. Something that would give me just the right dopamine hit so I wouldn’t go looking for another one.
Indecision had me against the ropes; a series of infections post infusion came in with the right hook and I went down – hard.
When Illness Comes Marching In
While I prayed for my next step, my body made the decision for me. I weakened, and I no longer had the energy — or the will — to write. Some days, just getting through the basics took everything I had. Writing wasn’t a priority anymore; it was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Looking back, I think my body was forcing a stop I wouldn’t give myself. It was the reset and reassessment of priorities that I didn’t know I desperately needed. I’d been so busy measuring my worth against an imaginary rubric that I never stopped to ask whether I actually had anything left to give.
Did I want to give anything at all?
Finally, Inspiration…and Action
Rest has a strange way of loosening things you didn’t know were clenched. Somewhere in the middle of doing nothing — no writing, no planning, no guilt-scrolling through my own unfinished to-do list — an idea for the third book started to surface. Not because I forced it. Because I finally gave it room.
I didn’t come back with a grand plan or a perfect schedule. I came back with one scene, then one page, then one small, stubborn habit of showing up again. That’s really all “inspiration” turned out to be: permission to start small instead of demanding I start finished.
So here’s where I am now — writing again, posting again, and letting the third book take the time it actually needs instead of the time I think it should take. If you’ve been waiting on book three, thank you for your patience. It’s coming, and this time I’m not going to let indecision or an arbitrary deadline talk me out of it.
If you’ve ever gone quiet because you felt like you were falling behind — I see you. Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is stop, rest, and let inspiration catch up to you.