Fallow periods
This week, I caught up with an author friend who asked me how things are going writing-wise. I was happy to tell her that, having just handed in the first draft of Evelyne Redfern #3, I was in a bit of a fallow period.
As an adjective, fallow has two definitions. It can describe a period of inactivity or unproductiveness, or it can describe a piece of farm land that has been plowed and prepared but has been left unsown in order to restore its fertility. Personally, I much prefer the second definition when it comes to describing the slower periods of time in my writing career.
Generally, I write two books a year. That means two rounds of first drafts, two rounds of developmental edits, copy edits, pass pages, etc.1 This schedule keeps my calendar very busy, which is something I enjoy. I thrive off of being productive. However, I’ve learned that fallow periods—especially after a particularly intense time like tackling a first draft—are vital to being able to take my foot off the proverbial accelerator. It helps give my brain the time and space that I need to ramp back up and be creatively productive once again.
I used to be rubbish at this.2 Most of my adult life, I was a journalist. Receiving almost all of your training in that industry instills some fantastic skills and practices around discipline and work ethic, but my experience was that it also reinforced some unhealthy habits and tendencies. Long nights on breaking news and sometimes days-long periods of extreme weather coverage taught me to push myself, without question, to the point of exhaustion. I didn’t question it because I was young and this was what everyone else around me did. It was normal.
Except it wasn’t.
Working so hard that you go home and crash for hours is not normal. Developing panic attacks that were a delayed response to work-related stress at 23 is not normal. Feeling so anxious that for weeks you feel as though you can’t draw in a full breath is not normal.
At some point, I realized that for my own health I needed to create a little bit of separation between my work and me. If I continued to let my entire identity be dictated by journalism, it was going to grind me down until there was nothing left.
I am lucky I learned that lesson early. I am also lucky that, although I have pushed myself to the brink of burnout or actual temporary burnout with my writing career, I have gotten better at recognizing it and pulling myself back from the edge before it happens. I love writing, and doing too much is an excellent way to kill that love.
Last year I had one of the most intense years of my career that, because of things within and outside of my control, meant I did not have those periods of rest between books that I’ve learned I need. I moved from one project to another immediately. I had two first drafts due a month apart. It was too much.
I got through my deadlines, but I wasn’t happy about it. I felt as though I had allowed myself to regress to my young journalism self where there weren’t enough boundaries around my work.
My friend Mary and I meet regularly to write,3 and I began to open up to her about the fact that I felt I was teetering too close to the edge of burnout. She told me that she found the book Rest: Why You Get More Done When You Work Less by Alex Soojung-Kim Pang helpful. Despite my skepticism about its pop science name, I picked up a copy that day.
In the book Pang’s argues that rest, exercise, and creative outlets outside of work are vital to creativity. He leans heavily on both science and anecdotal accounts of various figures (many authors!) to show how routine and boundaries can actually help boost productivity.
After reading Rest, I decided to begin building intentional fallow periods into my working year. Last year, I took off the entire month of August (a luxury of being self-employed) to reset and read. This year, I’ve tried adopting “reading weeks” when, once a quarter, I put the laptop away and just read. Sometimes I read for pleasure. Sometimes the books relate to research for a current or future project. Either way, I find that time very helpful in clearing the cobwebs away.
I’ve now had my reading week and I’m starting to think ahead to what the rest of the year might look like. I am beginning to pick up work like this essay and some marketing efforts to promote Betrayal at Blackthorn Park (Evelyne Redfern #2), however I’m trying to take a gentle approach by letting myself enjoy the slower pace of this fallow period.
I am still very much a work in progress when it comes to balancing productivity and rest, but that is another essay for another time.
Together but silent is how I think about writing sessions with author friends.