Your Writing Has Value (Even if You Can't Stand the Sight of It)

A writer I work with recently announced that she’d rather step in front of a runaway garbage truck than continue writing her book.

Well, her words weren’t exactly that dramatic. But the passion was there.

She’s been struggling to write a book for several years. One day she woke up, realizing that the topic makes her sad and she doesn’t want to work on it anymore!

In telling me, her developmental editor, I think she was braced for a pep talk or some “Oh, it’s not so bad—you’ll change your mind” malarkey. But instead, the first thing that popped out of my mouth was, “That’s great! I’m so glad we know!”

Now, I’m not a vanity editor who coos over every single idea and turn of phrase. But I've had enough writing projects that felt like army crawling to the end—any end, please just make it end—to force it anymore. And here’s the truth:

No writing you do is wasted. Everything you write informs and later enriches future projects.

That’s true even if the writing in question wasn’t “complete” or “good enough.” You’re exercising your creative muscles, working that part of your brain that demands to say stuff, and you’re practicing the difficult act of actually doing the thing.

As creatives, we have to have trust. We have to trust our talents, our intuition, our paths, even when all signs point to “Huh?”

I got my first paid job as a writer thanks to my previous experience as a telemarketer. That telemarketing gig made me cry daily, but that’s not the point here. The point is that the job that made me feel like a giant loser was actually a boon when I applied for a development job that involved writing scripts for fundraising calls.

Who's the rockstar now?

Later in my career, experience in insurance meant that I was probably also capable of editing tax content. (Yes, I’m great fun at parties.) Because I’d written about small business, telling stories about artists was right up my alley. My experiences in nitpicking and storytelling meant that editing novels was, of course, the logical next step.

It’s not a glamorous career path, but in retrospect, it all makes sense. Just like our writing paths will. Maybe not today, but someday.

So, to the writer who realized she was sick of her book topic and then had the guts to proclaim it? I give mad props. It’s not easy to say, “This is not for me right now.” That’s especially true if you’ve been telling everyone you know that you’re working on the definitive book on rutabagas or whatever. Then they keep asking about it and you have to say, “Uh, actually, I’m working as a telemarketer right now.”

It will all make sense later when you are inspired to craft a novel about a rutabaga farmer who falls in love with a telemarketer. You’ve already done so much of the work! Lived experiences + those old rutabaga drafts = creative alchemy.

We, as humans, are cumulative. Your writing is the same way.

Anything you create, even if it’s just for fun, even if it was 20 years ago, matters. It will inform and enrich what you create moving forward, like fertile soil doing invisible work in a garden.

So if a project isn’t for you right now, that’s great. Walk away, whether it’s for a break or a long-term split. But don’t feel like your work or your time have been wasted. And keep writing. What you create enriches the soil for all of us.