A Slow Writer in a Fast World

I’m not your typical writer, in that my head is not exploding with ideas of juicy plots, exciting adventures, courageous heroes, strong heroines.

Some writers read newspaper articles that inadvertently fill up their plot-tanks. Not me. Some writers cross paths with people on the street or in a store and suddenly know who their MC is, or have a face for that elusive antagonist. Not me. And some writers can come up with a story on the spot or when it’s part of a high school English class assignment. Definitely not me.

My lack of ideas—and a tendency to freeze creatively when under pressure—is part of the reason I long questioned my deep-seated desire to become a published author, for it flies in the face of everything I’d heard, read, and was told a “real” writer should be. The emphasis in today’s world to produce more, more, more, at a faster, faster, faster pace just highlights my short-comings.

Oh, but are they short-comings?

A year ago, I would have said yes and continued my fight to change it. To change me.

Tinsel in a Tangle, my debut novel that released last year, took me over three years to write, from when I first began fleshing out the ideas to when I felt confident the manuscript was at a point I could begin querying agents and publishers. Before that, however, the seed for Tinsel had lain dormant in the back-corner of my brain for well over a decade, planted when my folks bought me a puzzle depicting the Dept 56 North Pole Series. I knew right away I wanted to write a book about the fantasy side of Christmas, but had no clue who the main characters were and even less of a clue about the plot.

Hiding in my laptop is a fantasy WIP that has recently begun to show visible signs of life…but the seed dates back over seventeen years when, as newlyweds, my hubby and I lived in a renovated attic in New England. Every morning during breakfast, I’d stare out the windows at the house owners’ manicured backyard bordered by a crumbling stone wall. On the other side of that wall towered a few acres of mature woods, and one morning, a fully-formed character stepped out of those woods and into my imagination. Alas, he forgot to bring the plot along with him, so I was forced to set him aside. But I sense the time may soon be coming when I can pay more attention to these tender shoots pushing through the surface of my mind…

And then there’s the inspirational romance I began over a decade ago, the seed of which comes from a lakeside cabin my grandparents used to own, where my family and I would vacation for a couple of weeks during my childhood summers. I long to share those fond memories with readers…someday. When the timing is right. As of now, my characters have yet to figure out who they are and what goals they have.

And just like I can’t force a plant to grow and bear fruit or flowers any faster than nature allows, I can’t force my stories into fruition before their time.

Society, however, is all about numbers these days, in terms of how many followers you have on social media, what your net worth is, how much a company—or person—can produce in a given amount of time (suggesting that the higher the number, the more successful you are). This way of thinking has infiltrated the writing world, as well. The more followers you have on social media, the better chances you have of landing an agent or book deal. The more books you produce, the bigger following you will have. The more frequent your blog posts, the larger your following, yet again upping your odds of landing that coveted agent.

This is what we’re told, at any rate. And while there might be some truth to it, the innuendo that the opposite will yield failure puts enormous pressure on me as a slow writer and opens wide the door for Fear to come in and take up permanent residence in my subconscious. The combined pressure and fear tends to paralyze my creativity, which results in frustration and self-condemnation, which paralyzes me further, and thus a vicious cycle is born.

So…are my slothful-like nature and penchant for stress-induced paralysis short-comings? Am I doomed to eternal resentment as a writer because my head doesn’t seem to cooperate with my heart’s desires?

I used to think so. But different events over the last several months have me conceding that a slow writer is exactly how God has made me—at least in this season of my life. And though the world might see my lack of productivity as a fault, when I accept my unique writing style for what it is, and trust in God’s ability to do impossible things despite society’s claims (and rely on Him to help me through my bouts of paralysis), my creativity begins to flow; my progress picks up; outside pressures slough away; and once again, the joy of playing with words rushes through my fingertips.

Do you find yourself working at a sloth’s pace in a cheetah-minded world? Own it—that’s who God made you to be. There’s a strength and quality in going slow sometimes. Then, work to excel at whatever He has put before you. And if that means you’re performing contrary to everyone around you, all the better for God’s glory to shine through you.