...a 7-year book reservation

letters to creators

I just finished a book that took me 7 years to complete.

I remember the exact moment the idea arrived. I was parked in my driveway when it struck me like a freight train. A plot twist so good I could already picture the marketing. The Silent Patient meets Method acting. I couldn’t jump out of the car and hit the blank page fast enough. I was desperate to capture the energy.

But a few writing sessions later, the momentum faded.

I couldn’t find the voice.

I puttered through a miserable first draft, but the reality became obvious.

This novel was flatlined.

I once read something by Elizabeth Gilbert. She said ideas float through the ether looking for human collaborators, and if you aren’t available, they’ll go to someone else. I believe that… to an extent. But I also believe the ether lets you make reservations, like a book at the library. You can keep an idea in the queue and let your subconscious work on it in the background.

As long as you have the intention of returning to the idea.

That’s what happened with this novel.

I made a reservation.

Years later, I was working on another book, and that old idea rushed back to life. I could hear the heartbeat again. I opened the dusty Word doc. Brushed off the cobwebs. And suddenly that cul-de-sac turned into a superhighway. The rest of the book poured out of me.

Seven years later, it’s ready for publication.

Lately, I’ve been discouraged by the creative landscape. This endless chase for output and views and subscribers and followers. This low-grade anxiety that you should always be posting, always be creating. That AI should help you produce more. More output, more posts. All this technology promises us more time, and yet somehow, we all feel busier and more exhausted than ever.

But big ideas take time.

You can’t reap a harvest without planting seeds. Some ideas can’t be rushed. We need time to grow into the kind of creator who can actually execute the work. Colson Whitehead took over 15 years to write The Underground Railroad. To Kill a Mockingbird took over a decade. Avatar was conceived in the ’90s, but James Cameron knew the tech and his vision needed time to mature.

I’m writing this letter to myself more than anyone else.

I don’t know about you, but I hate this rush to “put something out there.” To throw my work into the void so I don’t get left behind. To keep up with the latest trend. To jump on platforms and try to gain a following before the rush comes.

But here’s what I believe: the barrier to entry for making content has never been lower. That doesn’t mean creators have more to say. Just because you have a podcast mic doesn’t make you an expert. Most people haven’t done the deep work of excavating their voice. They haven’t taken the time to discover what is trying to be expressed through them. That’s the kind of work that can’t be done with a prompt. That kind of work takes years of showing up to your creations faithfully.

So take a deep breath. (Yes, I’m talking to me.)

Stay on the path. Keep showing up to your ideas. Make reservations. Keep creating.

The world doesn’t need another viral video chasing an algorithm.

It needs work only you can create.

Stories and art that can transform and change people, not something they can like and swipe away.

What I’m reading

For another book I’m writing, I’ve been struggling with the arc of the male protagonist. In the story, he must find his missing father and ultimately, face the shadows and demons he’s been running from. To help me think through this, I’ve been reading Quest for the Holy Grail by Richard Rohr.

I’ve always loved the Holy Grail stories and Arthurian legend. Rohr’s book breaks down the myth and explores why we’re so deeply drawn to these stories. He also does a beautiful job of unpacking the divine dance between the feminine and the masculine.

As he writes:

“In the beginning of the myth, the Grail is veiled—only partially seen, but enough to realize what it is. This is the first religious experience of a young man: just enough to know the Real, to know there is something more, something even eternal.”

What I’m watching

My wife and I have been watching Glitter & Gold, a documentary about Olympic couples figure skaters. What I love most about the Olympics is the commitment to craft. The almost borderline obsession that allows someone to do something truly extraordinary. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately as I decide where to focus my own creative energy. Do I want to be decent at a lot of things… or do I want to give myself to the one thing I might be able to do extraordinarily well?

That’s it for this week. Thanks for reading!