When I wrote The Swirl and Swing of Words in 2024, I was coming off of a writing hiatus, one of several that I’ve taken over the 25 years that I’ve been a published writer. I had hopped from one project to the next for 13 years; beginning in 2009, when I began writing Her Dear & Loving Husband, through 2022, when The Duchess of Idaho was published, I wrote 11 novels, one nonfiction book, and a PhD dissertation, which is 200 pages and required more work than any novel I’ve written. At the time, I loved every minute of writing those projects. I had so many ideas that jumping from project to project seemed the only way to get all of those ideas out of my head. 

When I began The Copperfield Review in 2000, I was lucky enough to interview the historical novelist John Jakes, and one thing he said that has stuck with me is how he hoped he would live long enough to write all the stories he wanted to tell. That’s how I feel too. But after 13 years, with a pandemic and a worsening hearing loss thrown in, I was burned out, and I needed to step away. For how long? At the time, I didn’t know, but I’d been through burnout before and I trusted that I would know when it was time to write again. 

After journaling about why I felt so exhausted, I realized that I felt as if my creativity was becoming the same ol’ same ol’ and it was time to make some changes. I ran The Copperfield Review for 22 years before I had an inkling of closing it down. By 2022, I wasn’t excited about running the journal anymore. The amount of work keeping a literary journal afloat was very different in 2022 than it was in 2000, and I had to look seriously at why I was keeping the journal open. Whenever we do something for a sustained period, we have to evaluate whether that something still serves us or if we’re continuing out of habit. 

By 2023, I knew I was continuing Copperfield out of habit, and it was time to move on, though it was hard because Copperfield had been such an important part of my life for more than two decades. I was thrilled by Copperfield’s reputation as a home for literary excellence, and I was honored that Copperfield became a respected journal that writers wanted to be published in. I loved that The Copperfield Review was the first published credit for many up-and-coming writers. But when the financial difficulties of keeping the journal running became too much, and the joy was gone, it was time to move on. I knew when I closed the journal in 2023 that I had made the right decision because I felt relieved instead of sad. If something isn’t working, we need to let it go, whatever it is. We need to be brave enough to make changes when they’re needed.

Whenever I feel the need to take a hiatus, I ask myself the question who am I if I’m not writing? It’s a question that can send a shiver down my spine, especially since I identify so strongly with writing. When I think of myself as not writing, I feel as if I’m in a void. As writers, we often measure our worth in word counts, completed drafts, and published pieces. When the laptop is closed, the notebook is tucked away, and the Muse has gone astray, who are we then? The question feels more complicated for those of us juggling jobs, families, and, you know, just life. Whatever precious writing time we have is often squeezed into the margins of our lives. Who am I when I’m resting, working, or simply living my life?

It turns out I’m myself, with all of my unique talents and imperfections. Over many years, I’ve learned that, perhaps more importantly, who I am when I’m not writing is the secret ingredient to who I become when I am writing. Because I live a full life, I have more knowledge and creativity to spend on my imagined worlds.  

E.E. Cummings said, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” It also takes courage to look at your life, as a human and as a creator, and do the work your heart calls out for you to do. During my most recent hiatus, I felt relieved when I didn’t have a writing project hanging over me. Then, when the idea for my current WIP dawned, I went from feeling frustrated and limited in what I could write to great excitement at seeing what I could make of this new genre. I tend to have my best ideas for new writing projects when I’m taking time away. 

There’s this romantic ideal of the writer (though I’m not so sure how romantic it really is) hunched over a desk, fueled by coffee (something stronger if you’re Hemingway) and angst, utterly consumed by their manuscript, with no time or desire for the mundane real world. Writers live lives of the mind, you know. While intense periods of focus are certainly part of the process, a sustainable writing life isn’t built on constant creative output. It’s built on a well-rounded existence. 

You are still yourself when you’re not writing. Actively cultivate your relationships, interests, and hobbies. Lean into the parts of your identity that aren’t all about being a writer. You’ll appreciate your writing time more for it.

When we are not writing, we are still vast, complex, multi-faceted individuals living rich and varied lives. Those rich and diverse lives will bring depth, authenticity, and resilience to our pages. Celebrate your hobbies, relationships, work, and moments of rest. The more we nurture our whole person, the better we feed the writer within.