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.
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