As Fast As You Possibly Can

Hello and Welcome to Sitting in Silence, the newsletter about writing, craft, worry, and joy.

It’s summertime. Kids are out of school. Picnics are being had. And everywhere, writers are fretting about what they should be doing.

If you’re a writer, what should you be doing? That’s for you to answer, but I’ll give you some examples from my writing life.

Years ago, I wrote hard under two conditions: I had a lot of time on my hands, or I was extremely stressed. Back then, I almost never had a lot of time on my hands so most of the big writing bursts I embarked on then were stress related. I’m talking about twenty years ago when I was a young corporate lawyer questioning why I was doing a shirt-and-tie career when clearly, I was more an open-collar, sandals, cocktail-with-an-umbrella-in-it type.

In August 2005, something big happened. I had been working on my first ever attempt at a book. By then, I maybe had a couple of hundred pages of material that I didn’t hate. So, I felt good about myself, the book, and life itself.

If you’re paying attention, you know that something else happened to gulf coast residents like me in August 2005. A little catastrophic event called Katrina. I rarely write about that time. I have a lot of unresolved feelings about that era of my life, if I’m being honest. I remember reading an X-Man comic when I was a teen. One of the characters (Rogue, I think) notes that Wolverine gets quiet whenever it’s time to talk about a certain mission that went poorly before she joined the team. “Must have been pretty terrible if Wolvie doesn’t want to discuss it,” Rogue said (I’m paraphrasing.) That’s what Katrina is to me. A messed-up time that turned over the apple cart of my life.

But I did take one positive lesson from it. If you get knocked down and injured, but you can still move, run as fast as you possibly can.

The months after Katrina were a calamity for most residents from Cameron Parish to the western edge of coastal Alabama. People died; houses were washed away. Entire ways of life just evaporated. It was not a great time to be a writer just starting out. I mean who cares about writing when All Is Lost? A writer. That’s who.

I didn’t work on that book manuscript for months after the storm. But I did return to it in 2006. I knew that if I didn’t get going, I might never go again. I might never write anything at all again. So I committed to be true to myself.

You see, I’m not the best at anything. But one thing I am good at is setting parameters. When starting that book back in 2004, I gave myself two simple parameters: (1) like what you write, and (2) finish it no matter what.

Katrina put my soul through a trash compacter, but I was alive and still had all my fingers and toes. I figured I owed it to myself to just finish the thing. I like myself better when I keep my promises. And that’s what I did.

Like so many points in the story of my writing life, it took me years to internalize the actual lesson of the experience. The lesson there was straightforward: you’ll finish what you have a mind to finish.

I’ve had a heck of a year here at the midpoint of 2024. I won’t recap all the cool book release stuff. You can look at earlier posts for that. But I realized I had two conflicting goals: take it easy but finish the book I sold earlier this year. You see, I think it’s important to give oneself grace. So, for about a decade now, I have a rule (those parameters again) that when something great happens, I take a breather, maybe to celebrate, but also to avoid burnout.

In the past if I was working on a short story, but learned that I won a prize, I automatically closed my laptop and took the day to do a fun thing like go to the movies, get ice cream, or meet friends. Going on a book tour is one of the biggest wins a writer can have. We spend years writing a book in a dungeon, and then for a few weeks we emerge into the scorching light of (minor) celebrity to proclaim our works to the world. This is why whenever I have a book come out, I don’t write much. “I’m partying and you expect me to file my taxes?” I say to my Responsible Self, the version of me who wears wire rimmed glasses, a black turtleneck, and thinks regular-me is a goofus. I’m not sure why my Responsible Self is Steve Jobs-coded, but I just work here. I don’t have all the answers.

When I published my first book, We Cast a Shadow, in 2019 by my own rules, I didn’t work on the next book hardly at all that year. I told myself that I needed to live in the moment and be present at my events. Burning the candle at both ends by touring and writing at the same time was a recipe for disaster, burnout, bitterness, etc.

So when my latest book came out in February, I set my normal parameters. I would tour and not write much. I mean my plate was full with all the plane travel not to mention my teaching jobs and other commitments.

But something has been different this time. It’s a feeling I’ve had many times, but never in this context. How to describe? It’s like in any racing video game where you get a power-up. Perhaps it’s a turbo booster or a banana peel as in Mario Cart or Smash Brothers or Legend of Zelig or whatever. (I don’t know. I haven’t played video games in a while.) And you can decide when to use it. Push the turbo button to zoom past your opponents at the finish line. I get the same feeling if I’m out for a jog but have been going to easy on myself for days or weeks, and some dashboard light in my brain comes on blinking “RUN.” I ask, “how fast?” and the light says, “as fast as you can.”

All over the country, writers are doing #1000wordsofsummer. Some people are doing delayed NaNoWriMo sets. Others are just writing their tales off. Pun intended. I am too.

I went to a writing retreat in upstate New York sponsored by my publisher. The purpose was to give me and some other talented writers space and time to work on projects.

Honestly, my chest was tight when I arrived. I told myself that I’d just hang out, chat with the others, read. But a couple of days into this 10-day situation that dashboard light went off.

It told me that I shouldn’t be nervous. I should just write. As fast as I could.

That’s what I’ve done. For the past six weeks or so, I’ve been outlining, thinking, and punching out pages like the dot-matrix printer my middle-school computer club used back in 1989. (For my project, I coded the printer to make a picture of a Christmas tree. I’d show it to you, but Katrina got it.)

I’m saying all this to say that if you’re reading this, that dashboard light has probably gone off for you in the past. You may have acted on it or may have hit the snooze button. But I’ll tell you this, when you set a goal for yourself and write as fast as possible, really nice gifts can come your way.

Say hi in the comments, if you like. I enjoy hearing from you! I’m also taking suggestions for future topics.