Lately, the question “Do I want to keep writing?” has arisen.Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash.

“What are you writing now?” Or “What will you write next?” Questions I’m asked frequently, since the publication of my novel, Becoming Mariella.

What invariably comes up for me is, do I want to keep writing? Aside from short pieces, like this one, and pieces about people in my life who inspired some of the characters in the novel.

I’ve written since I was in high school: short stories, a screenplay, two novels, occasionally a poem, newspaper articles, all alongside marriage, motherhood, two returns to graduate school (once for Psychology and once for an MFA in creative writing), and a long career as a psychotherapist.

Writing has been the pull I can’t ignore, the thing I do that makes me feel most like myself, that ignites a sense of purpose, some would say passion, but not always pleasant, and often difficult, even disheartening.

But lately, the question “Do I want to keep writing?” has arisen.

And, if I do want to keep writing, what do I want to write about? A sequel to the novel? A story about my Sicilian grandmother? My mother? A love story? I’ve always thought writing a mystery would be fun. Still, it requires such intricacy, setting up the clues and then following them carefully, because the astute reader will notice if the author fails to address the proverbial smoking gun.

Or, if the author is clever enough, perhaps she’ll come up with a surprise ending that no one suspects but makes perfect sense. But, again, that means having a particularly keen eye for detail and twists of logic and linearity, which I’m not sure I possess.

Someone like Arthur Conan Doyle and his genius Sherlock, or Anne Cleeve’s Shetland series with her detective Jimmy Perez.

I am in awe of Cleeve’s capacity for geographic detail and her deep dive into the psyches and development of her characters. And her cleverness, where, often, she takes the reader down one road, but the murderer turns out to be on a different path.

So where does that leave me?

I’ve always thought of writing as a way of telling the truth. Not the truth, but the truth of what I’m writing, whether it’s what a fictional character would genuinely say or do, rather than forcing my thinking or dialogue onto them. Staying true to the character, rather than insisting they say that one thing, utter that brilliant phrase I just can’t let go of.

Or waxing philosophical in a passage that explains the meaning of life but has nothing, or only peripherally, to do with the story. Or, in memoir, wanting to look better or wiser or more moral than perhaps I was at the moment or incident I’m referring to. Having the courage to say what I really felt or thought or did, and how I feel or think about it now. Telling the truth to myself. Most importantly, if the writing is honest and authentic, it’s a process of discovery.

So back to the question that nags me. Do I want to keep writing?

It’s hard work, writing. At least I find it so. Harder than graduate school, harder than psychotherapy, even though being a psychotherapist is and has been the most fulfilling career I can imagine, and one in which I have been fully engaged and to which I have brought my whole being. Clients know right away if you’re not present or fully invested.

Writing is harder not only because much of the time you’re trying to make something out of nothing, in the sense of facing the blank page and creating out of thin air, even if one has a slip of an idea or a character or a story in mind. But harder because of that inner mandate to dig deeply and tell the truth.

To reveal one’s thoughts, feelings, and actions as closely as the situation or character calls for. To get it right. Some great writers spend a day on one paragraph; a poet might spend hours conjuring just one right word. Not to mention the discipline involved in sticking to a writing routine, whether you feel like it or not.

But also, psychotherapy clients are there to have the therapist’s searching eye focused on them, to have an ally in discovering their own inner truth. Not the psychotherapist’s.

Perhaps the question about writing now arises in the aftermath of publishing, amid the attendant time and focus devoted to marketing the book. That creating has taken a back seat to turning outward, which is antithetical to the solitary practice of writing itself. Or perhaps the months away from starting something new have been a necessary respite from 10 plus years of writing, editing, and marketing the novel.

I’m not sure. But the other morning I asked myself, What if I had to give up writing altogether? Forever? And I felt inordinately sad, a sense of loss that I knew wasn’t simply a passing emotion.

So the answer, for now anyway, is No. No, I don’t want to give up writing. Yes, I want to keep writing. But I still don’t know what the next endeavor will be. Part of the adventure will be in finding out.

Janet Constantino makes her literary debut with Becoming Mariella, winner of the 2025 International Impact Book Award for Women’s Fiction, finalist for the 2025 Best Book Awards in Women’s Fiction, and 2025 International Book Awards. She has been a licensed psychotherapist since 1983. In 2015, Janet earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Pacific University. In 2021, she won second place in the M.F.K. Fisher Last House writing contest. The intersection of connection and independence has always fascinated her, both in her writing and therapy career. Visit janetconstantino.com.

[image error][image error]