I can do anything I put my mind to

Except for the things I can’t

I was more than willing to tell people about my latest goal. “I’m trying to write 5,000 words a day,” I would announce to everyone in earshot. “At that pace, I could write a 90,000-word book in 18 days. That’s a little over two weeks!”

To my non-writer friends, who have held my hand through the ups and downs of publishing, 5,000 words a day seemed like a lot. My writer friends were even more skeptical. Writing 5,000 words a day is a massive undertaking. It is, for lack of a better term, a Herculean effort. A myth in the industry, it has driven many a well-meaning writer mad — including, of course, me.

But I didn’t know that at the time. I couldn’t see past the stars in my eyes. When people I love and respect told me in no uncertain terms that I should curb my expectations, I ignored them heartily. I would show them! Soon I would be writing 5,000 words a day, and all, as the stories go, would be well.

All was not well.

I should probably clarify that some people are capable of writing 5,000 words a day. I live in awe of these undeniably magical people. Having honed their discipline for years, they are now enjoying the fruits of their labors, namely the 90,000-word books they are able to write in less than three weeks.

I am not one of those people.

I should also clarify that, while I have not hit my wildly idealistic goal of 5,000 words a day, I have improved in other ways. I can write for longer periods of time. I can ignore the voice of my inner editor, at least while drafting. Finding flow is easier than it used to be, probably because I’ve learned to utilize brackets as a way of maintaining momentum. (My current draft is littered with notes to my future self, piling up with all the enormity of a very important to-do list.) Brie of a few months ago could never have left line edits for revision. She would’ve rather spent a half-hour on thesaurus.com than leaving a note in brackets and moving on.

Of course, I still have bad days. As I’m writing this, I’m currently procrastinating on a pair of chapters in act two that very simply do not work. I am, by nature, a clean drafter, so I die a little every time I open Scrivener to see a string of question marks and bracketed notes. It has taken everything in me not to tweak and revise and rewrite myself to hell.

But I’m learning! I did not write 5,000 words a day, but I did write 2,500 words once. I’m taking that as a win.

Strictly speaking, I could write 5,000 words a day. I could! I would drive myself mad in the process, and probably end up burned out and grumpy, but still. I could!

The problem is I don’t want to.

Maybe someday in the future, when I’m an agented author with several published books under my belt. Maybe then I will want to write a 90,000-word book in 18 days. But the very sad, very liberating truth is that, right now, over-the-top goals don’t serve me.

My word for 2023 is trust. Pushing myself beyond what I think is possible in the name of arbitrary goal-setting is a surefire way of losing that trust — in myself.

People I love and respect reminded me in gentle tones that my body is sick. It doesn’t matter how hard I pretend otherwise. My body is my body, and with it comes certain limitations, boundaries that I resent even as they keep me alive.

I am tired. I am always tired, but this year has introduced a new sort of tiredness that I am still learning to manage. It could be disease progression. There’s a physical element to it all, a fatigue that is as familiar to me as my own breaths. But there’s a spiritual element to it as well, a deep-seated exhaustion that has more to do with the heart than any sort of wellness.

I’m not depressed. I’m just tired. Which is why I changed my word to trust halfway through the year. I want to lean into the tiredness, to trust that it will reveal something about myself in due time.

I don’t want to write a 90,000-word book in 18 days. But I also can’t. My body doesn’t like it, and instead of digging my heels in, spitting and raging and pounding my little fists against the glass of myself, I am simply saying, “Okay.”

Okay. What’s next?

What’s next is identifying what would be enough. I don’t need to write a 90,000-word book in 18 days. But you know what would be cool? Writing a 90,000-word book in 90 days. That’s 1,000 words a day! Compared to 5,000 words, or even 2,500 words, 1,000 words sounds like a dream.

Before, writing 1,000 words would’ve been a chore. A slog. I would’ve hated every moment of it, not because I hated writing but because I would’ve been fighting with myself over every word. There was no trust between me and my inner editor. There was no reverence for the story I was telling, for the twists and turns that come with making something out of nothing. There was only cold, hard misery.

No wonder I’m tired.

What’s next is joy. What’s next is trust. What’s next is finding joy and trust wherever they happen to be at any given point in time. Right now, they seem to be pointing to Baldur’s Gate 3, a slice of caramel apple pie every night after dinner, and 1,000 words six days a week, because I’m a sucker for a sabbath. Doesn’t that feel better?

Yes. Yes, it does.