We’re on a Break

I’ve been keeping my distance from social media the last couple of weeks and here’s what I learned…

Instead of feeling disappointed in myself for not hitting a daily word-count goal or finishing the edits I started two weeks ago, I got back into the workout schedule I’ve desperately missed in my life, both mentally and physically. I spent quiet spring mornings on my balcony, which faces a pond full of wildlife, wondering when I might see the newly hatched ducklings. I thought plenty about my WIPs and jotted down ideas in my notebook. I had dinner with family. Planned my husband’s 40th birthday party. Took pictures of my niece on the night of her eighth-grade dance. 

I let myself get over the jet lag that lingered seven days longer than I expected it would, because I’m pushing 40 and my body is acting differently now. I planted a small herb garden and made my outdoor space more zen (so I can better relax when I watch my ducks). It’s been two-ish weeks, and I feel happier. Less rushed and more content. 

My zen balcony where I drink coffee and watch my ducks.

Coffee + Ducks + Rain = BIG VIBES

Mindless Scrolling… 

This all started because I realized that there was an identity I’d somehow attached myself to. The thing that maybe a lot of writers want for themselves: to be called writers, or to comfortably refer to themselves as writers. Thing is… I know I’m a writer, because I write. Though lately, I’ve been asking myself whether I WANT to be a writer. (The answer is yes, of course.) But it’s a yes [comma] but… on my terms. 

On the day that I exited my Instagram app and made a deliberate choice to limit my interaction with it, I felt angry and depressed. Mostly with myself but also with it—social media in general—and what it does to my mind after overuse. And in that anger, I began journaling. I seriously questioned if I wanted to keep writing—or at least, as hard as I’d been writing over the last several years. 

The hustle needed to be a “successful” writer is A LOT—especially when there’s noise in the background. That noise, scrolling through Instagram that morning, created a new question for me: 

Is my social media use serving me right now? 

Without a doubt in my brain, I support my writer friends and their successes and will continue doing so. I will share. I will repost. I will cheerlead. I love seeing the hard work they do; I love hearing about it through our text message threads and Discord channels. But there are plenty of other accounts and ads on social media the Algorithm Gods push through that are aimed at writers like me who have moments of self-doubt—and—I don’t always think the people behind these targeted messages, some of whom are entrepreneurial writers themselves, are meaning to do this. But let’s just say their marketing is doing the job. It’s hitting me in all the right places. Does my query letter need help? Is my manuscript edited enough? Are all these other writers getting published because they sought out this help and I didn’t? These images, these ads, they have a way of making my self-doubt larger. Maybe my manuscript isn’t ready for querying. Maybe I should get another editor. My story is trash, I’ll never get published, what am I even doing this for?

Yuck, right? 

The effects of social comparison are real and can sneak up on you. Pairing these ads with seeing your writing community share their successes can create a psychological mind-f**k. Watching authors you do know, authors you don’t know, opening their Pub-Day novel boxes… and you are happy for them. That hasn’t changed. But now, there’s a little more sadness inside. And another thought pops up… Will that ever be me? Then, maybe you start to question your work ethic, what they did and what you’re not doing. 

Yuck, again.  

I hadn’t been writing consistently for a while—I just didn’t have the motivation to do it. But to blame social media for this would be unfair. I did, however, notice a correlation to the thoughts I was having about my writing on the days I scrolled through Instagram and the days I didn’t. 

These last two weeks away from it, I realized that (for me) social media is great until it isn’t. It’s a way to stay connected. A way to network and see what else is out there. But when it starts to interfere with the BIG question—what am I doing this for?—that’s when I know it’s time to pull back. 

So? What Am I Doing this For? Why Do I Write? 

I remember why I started.

I started because I had a story to tell. I started because I love puzzles. I started because I wondered if I could do it and if I’d keep going. I kept doing it because I fell in love with learning how to write well, how to develop a story. I write because I love mornings with coffee at my desk getting my thoughts and emotions out by way of my characters. It’s healthy. It’s cathartic. 

I want my novels to get published. I want to find an agent. 

But those goals, mixed with what I see on the socials, adds to the noise in my head.  

Writing just to chase something—being published, getting an agent, earning a living—is no longer appealing to me. It adds a pressure I’m not interested in right now, something I don’t feel like participating in. That doesn’t mean I won’t continue to write novels. That doesn’t mean I won’t query them or get them professionally edited or attend conferences. It just means I’m paying attention to the enjoyment of it rather than chasing a goal. It means I’d rather be a weird duck-grandma, watching the newly hatched ducklings from my balcony over the hustle of getting pages churned out because of the gross internal/external pressure of this industry telling me that if I don’t, I won’t get where I want to be. 

I’m right where I want to be. 

– E