When we have a really long day, we tend to agonize over it. It’s trivial shit usually, but still stressful and still bogging us down, so still important to us. Writers (most of us anyway) tend to live on emotion, both good and bad. We thrive on it. For this reason it’s not hard for us to find life depressing now and then. When we get down in the dumps, it’s sometimes quite the effort to climb out. But the shocking truth about life is it doesn’t give a shit how we feel or if we make it out alive. Wait…let’s not think about that just now.

 

I know that’s harsh, but it's too easy for us to get so wrapped up in the moment that we forget to view things with a little perspective. We become so focused on writing and publishing (or whatever career path it is we've chosen) that we can't see what's going on outside our bubble. We work, and work, and work until we're nearly spent. Then we push a little harder and we work some more. Those of us with ambition and drive don't know the meaning of the word "quit" and we refuse to utter the word "can't." That's a good thing. Most of the time.

 

Now and then we fight that uphill battle toward our goals without pausing to take a good look around us. We don't see what we're doing to ourselves, and because we don’t take a moment to reflect, we don't realize how far we've come.

 

We don't pause long enough to appreciate ourselves and our hard work.

 

This is when Life steps in and forces us to take a step back. How? The methods vary, but usually Life likes to hit you in the face with something heavy and blunt. You know, to make sure you get what it's telling you. This summer Life hit me hard. Perhaps you’ll recognize a pattern in my little story.

 

I've written around a dozen manuscripts and buckets of short stories in the past few years. I have worked “seriously” since 2009 to go from knowing nothing about writing and publishing, to knowing and understanding enough to put it into a book, and to have clients pay me enough for my writing that I could actually make a living doing just that. In October of this year we published the Writer's Companion, after several months of feverish editing and preparation. In January we launched OFW, after a year of feverish planning, anxiety and dread. For most of this year, I’ve spent no less than 12 hours a day online. I've written articles to keep the bills paid, written articles to keep this site going, written blog posts to keep up with my "platform" and marketed on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc. until I'm sure people are sick of me. I've emailed authors, publishers, agents, etc. for interviews, and begged friends for content. I've had more than a few weeks where I averaged about 4 hours of sleep or less per night, and I've managed to work on "my" writing for at least an hour each day. Does that even seem right? One hour of what I want to be doing and 12 hours of what I "have" to do? Who is this slave driver forcing me to do this? Oh right...it's me.

 

Then I got sick. Nothing earth-shattering. I powered through. But then others in my house got sick and kindly passed it to me. I almost died. (Okay, not literally, but it sure felt like it.) I powered through and it got worse. I went to the doctor, got loaded up on drugs and just kept on going. I refused to let a silly thing like a bacterial infection ruin the momentum I'd gained. My mindset was: Must keep moving or I will fail.

 

I spent an embarrassing amount of time this past few months just sitting at my computer trying not to cry. Not working. Not typing. Just hands on the keyboard, choking back that giant lump of doom in my throat. Sometimes I allowed myself ten minutes of solid ugly crying, and then I'd sniff a snotty snort, wipe my eyes, and began working again.

 

Must keep moving or I will fail.

 

Life decided I wasn't real great at seeing subtle hints so it dropkicked me with the most devastating news I've ever had to deal with. I won't get into the dirty details here because it's not something I feel needs to be shared. However, because I'm writing this I owe it to you guys not to be completely cloak and dagger. Basically what happened is someone very important to me is very sick. Someone I can't imagine life without and I wouldn’t imagine life without until I wasn’t given the option to do otherwise.

 

The thing is, this “event” made me realize that I had to stop moving. I had no other choice. And you know what? I stepped back and I said, "Shit. Look at what I've done. Look at what I've built. Why isn't this enough?"

 

You know what? This isn’t a race. You don’t have to achieve your goals tomorrow or even the next day. This shit is not more important than anything else at the end of the day. Yes, I want to publish. Yes, I want to make writing my career. And yes, yes, yes, I want people to read my books. But it's not worth killing myself or forgetting that life is meant to be lived. It's not worth missing those important moments in life with those important people who aren't always going to be there. Nothing is forever. That's the shitty thing about life. It goes on whether you’re involved or not.

 

Motivation and ambition are fantastic. I have lots of both and I know a lot of writers who have more than me, but sometimes, motivation and ambition make us forget what's healthy for us both physically and emotionally.

 

So, now that I've had to take a step back, I've gained a bit of perspective. This is not the be-all and end-all of my world. I will keep plugging away and I won't quit. I will always write, whether I publish any of my books or not. It's in my blood. My soul sings when I'm creating. But enough of this working myself into the ground and enough taking the things that really matter for granted. I recommend that every writer do the same.

 

When you find yourself sitting at your desk/table/whatever feeling like you want to cry or hide in a dark, empty hole rather than do another single thing, it's time. When the idea of getting out of bed depresses you before you've even started your day, it's time. When you realize that the people who mean the most to you get only an hour here and there of your full attention, it's time. When your brain can't process another kick in the face, it's time to take a break.

 

Life's too short and it won’t wait for you. Besides, if you ever hope to write something worth publishing you need to live life, not avoid it.