Why You Should Embrace the Fallow Times
By Kelsey Allagood | April 27, 2022 |
My dad grew up in Miami, Florida, the oldest son of a Southern Baptist deacon. Their house, like other midcentury homes, had a flat roof topped with a layer of gravel. On weekends when they weren’t at church, my dad and his younger sister were made to walk around the outside of their house, picking up pebbles that had blown off the roof. Was this necessary work? Maybe—I don’t have a gravel roof. But the lesson, as my dad told the story, wasn’t about the labor involved in roofing choices, but that any time spent at leisure was wasteful—sinful, even. “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” as the saying goes.
I thought of this story as I finished Draft Zero of my current novel at the end of March. I told myself that I’d put it aside for the month of April and work on other projects. I had plans. I was going to revisit my old novel to see if I was interested in salvaging it. Maybe write a few short stories. Try to finally make a dent in my TBR stack.
Easier said than done. It wasn’t putting the draft aside for a month that was the hard part: it was the doing anything else. And by anything, I mean anything.
I can’t even finish reading a book. I start them, but always end up putting them down and not picking them up again. I’ve tried fiction of all genres, rereading books I know I love, nonfiction and short stories and poetry. Physical books, e-books, audiobooks. I can finish short stories and poems, but even then, I don’t have the urge to really sit and engage with—savor—the words. It’s not a matter of lack of access: I have a stack of unread books in my house and on my e-reader, as well as a well-loved library card and a local library with a generous e-book section.
All this effort means that the only things I’ve actually read recently are works that I owe to other people: a friend’s novella draft, novel excerpts from critique partner, some essays I’m proofreading. I feel like I’m making a shameful admission: what kind of writer isn’t reading something?
But as I lamented my imposter status to my critique group, one of the members offered a suggestion that briefly broke my brain:
“Maybe you shouldn’t force it. You’re not going to make it any easier on yourself by feeling bad.”
Not force it? As in, not be productive?? Not work on improving my art??? And not feel guilty about it????
Sounds fake.
Of course, it’s not fake. Just as I’m hardly the first person in history to experience a fallow period, I’m also far from the first person to decide it’s a good thing, actually. And rather than forcing myself to do the writer’s equivalent of picking up pebbles from a gravel roof, I’ve been thinking about some reasons why a guilt free-period of unproductivity may be the exact thing I need right now.
Rest is Necessary. We all know that we don’t do our best work when we’re sleep-deprived. Why should we expect our creativity to remain high if we never take breaks? In her book Wintering, which argues for the necessity of slowing down during life’s difficult periods, Katherine May explores elements of the natural world that withdraw, cool down, or die off to prepare for periods of growth. In cold weather, trees shed their leaves, some animals hibernate, and some bees shed their wings to take turns warming the hive. And yet if you look at the labor practices of some major corporations (not naming names, but one that comes immediately to mind rhymes with “blamazon”), you’ll see story after story of people working 14-hour shifts with no breaks, being penalized for taking breaks that are too long, or being denied bathroom or lunch breaks. In addition to the exploitation of low-wage workers, a culture of always being “on” has insinuated itself into white collar jobs, as well. Call it hustle culture or grind culture; call it coworkers who come into work with fevers but just place a fan on their desk and keep working (yes, this happened); whatever you call it, it’s worked its way into our subconscious (and by “our,” I mean those who grew up in cultures similar to my own, which is hardly the entire world). As May writes in Wintering, “Doing these deeply unfashionable things—slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting—is a radical act now, but it is essential.”
It’s Not Always About More Productivity. At times, I’ve read advice that argues in favor of taking breaks as a way to “refill the creative well.” This is a totally valid reason to rest, to read for pleasure, and to enjoy leisure time. I believe these activities do lead to more creation. But I also want us to rest because it’s good for us, without keeping one eye on our eventual productivity goals. Personally, I’ve noticed that if I choose to rest with the goal of refilling my creative well, I start to feel anxiety about whether I’m resting the “correct” way, or if my well is refilled yet, or if my well is taking too long to refill, or or or…So, fellow neurotics, lean into being a lump on a log. Take pride in your hands being the devil’s playground. Or, if you’re like me and motivated by 50% food and 50% spite, find a person, entity, or concept to “stick it to.” Your English teacher who once said you’d never make it as a writer, your high school bullies, “grind culture” in general. For example, “Yeah, I’m not being a productive member of society right now. Deal with it, late-stage capitalism!”
It Helps Encourage Self-Compassion. Ah, my favorite piece of advice from well-meaning folks who clearly have never plumbed the depths of the human capacity for self-loathing. But while I recognize that “just practice self-compassion!” is about as useful advice as being told to “just sprout wings and fly!” it is an important part of true rest. Guilt is one of the ways that insidious voice tricks us into getting back to the grind. Guilt tells us we’re not real writers if we’re not reading/writing at this very moment, that we’re bad people if we’re lazy, that we clearly don’t care enough about our craft if we’re not hustling 24/7. Practicing self-compassion is hard, but it’s necessary. How likely are you to really take rest if you know you’re just going to feel bad the entire time? While self-compassion is a process, one piece of advice that has made it a little easier for me is to imagine that insidious voice—the one telling me I’m an imposter—is talking to someone that I care about. Would I say those things to someone I love? Then why should I hear them?
Tell us about a fallow period you experienced in your creative life. Did you lean into it? Or did you muddle through?
Kelsey Allagood (she/her) is a writer, occasional photographer, and trained political analyst specializing in the causes of war and systemic oppression. This background led her to begin writing fantasy fiction steeped in the anthropology of conflict.
Her writing can be found in literary magazines such as Barrelhouse, GRIFFEL, Menacing Hedge, and Wanderlust. Her photography has been featured in RESURRECTION mag. She has also written on peaceful resistance movements, art as a form of political resistance, and countering violent extremist ideology.
Kelsey has a Bachelor’s Degree in international and cultural studies from the University of Tampa and a Master’s Degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University.
She lives in Maryland with her husband, mother, and a rescue dog named Henry.
[coffee]
Hi Kelsey,
We haven’t met but I know you wrote this piece for me, didn’t you? :)
Goodness! I so needed to read your piece today. In India, where I grew up, we have a saying “Aaram haraam hai”, which literally means “Rest is forbidden.” We also learnt that “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop” (but maybe that isn’t too bad for a fiction writer!)
Like you, I too feel tremendous guilt when I’m ‘resting’, and then I try to ‘rest’ with a goal in mind and of course that backfires spectacularly. Looking back I realize that I mostly try to fight my way through fallow periods. I resist it, deny it, try to bulldoze my way through, and it never ends well. In fact, it never ends. Because I may have a brief comeback, but sooner or later I find myself falling into fallow-land again. Funnily enough, it is only this past month that I’ve been experimenting with letting it be. I am journalling my way through it, and it seems more bearable this time around as long as I don’t fall back into the loop of wondering when it will end or wishing things were otherwise.
Thank you for writing this post! Your words spoke to me at a time when I needed them the most. Thank you! :)
Aaram haram hai made me laugh, Anitha. My children know never to say they’re bored because I will put them to work.
Kelsey, your dad was brilliant to have you kids pick up the stones. I imagine while your hands were busy, you were dreaming up stories. That’s what I did when we bought our first home and were preparing the land to make a vegetable garden. We had a natural pond on our horse acre and my toddlers and I picked stone after stone and threw them in the pond. And my mind would wander, stories percolated, and I always had a notebook and pen with me so sometimes, while the kids picked rocks I’d write :) At night, after I’d put everybody to bed, I’d get on the computer to polish my prose. I did not rest.
But it’s really only after I became chronically ill that I learned that it’s enough to just be–after all, I’m a human being, not a human doing–but it took a long while to learn given our love for productivity. But I thank God for all of it because I learned to pray and it’s probably the most powerful thing I do. Now I pretty much go with the ebb and flow of life; I’ve surrendered. And I feel victorious (my name :)
We are totally on the same page! I posted a similar (but different, unique to me as yours is to you) celebration of the ‘fallow times’ at the GROG a bit ago: https://groggorg.blogspot.com/2022/01/writing-life-three-tips-for-and-in.html
I absolutely believe in the essential nourishment that goes on during these times, and the seeds that are planted for work and life ahead.
Hey Kelsey — It’s an extreme example, but my wife and I spent a decade in an all encompassing whirlwind that was business ownership. The day-to-day didn’t just occupy us, it completely possessed us. I’m a lifelong reader, and I maybe read a couple dozen books in that decade, mostly business-related nonfic. I’ll never forget when we first left, how sort of stunned we were, how little we actually did–for months. I had this big pile of books that I’d been so sure I would get to, and those first few months I read exactly none of them. Once I did start reading, it was the trickle that turned into a gushing flow. Couldn’t get enough. It was perfectly like a book-lover making up for a decade of depravation. But that period of leaving that life was like an enforced period in decompression, isolated and still; a damn-near thoughtless existence.
I suppose all of that to say: can confirm. Carry on. Thanks for sharing, and best to you in giving yourself what you need.
The restlessness that you describe is something I’ve always thought of as creative energy.
Most every musician and visual artist I’ve ever known or admired from afar doesn’t constrain their creativity into one specific art form. Yes, they will usually only be famous or make a living from one medium, but they usually have at least one other artistic outlet in their personal lives. If you need an example, think of the famous songwriters of the 60s. John Lennon, Joni Mitchell, Eric Clapton all went to Art school. Dylan’s been painting since the 60s and also creates ironworks.
I always thought it was odd that writers don’t acknowledge this need for multiple outlets as openly as other artists. But Stephen King did have a rock band of writers for a while, didn’t he?
Anyway, I call myself a creative before I call myself a writer or a metalsmith or a painter or a yarn head, because I believe creative energy comes first. It needs an outlet and if I allow it to find a form, then the restlessness inside me disappears. Some satisfaction comes. And as a side benefit, I get ideas and new understandings to use in the other outlets. I’m speaking from my personal experience and I”m probably projecting here. What I’m trying to say is when there are writing blocks, I know it’s time not to sit still, but to start making more of something without words. And it never fails, as I’m working with the metal, paint or fibers, I start to hear the words.
Self care doesn’t mean you have to sit still and get a pedicure. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that for those who love pedicures.) As a creative it can mean allowing yourself to dabble in another form of craft, with no expectations.
“I believe creative energy comes first.”
So true. Lots of times, I’m more focused on music than on writing. Other times, cooking, gardening. I need all these outlets.
Rest. I have heard of this concept. It’s something they do in Japan, I think? Perhaps I’ll explore it later on like when, you know, I finally get around to that Zen rock garden. For now, though, I’m unhappy if I’m not busy.
Which is not to say this post doesn’t have a good point, I just think it’s less about taking off extended time as it is–as your writing friend so aptly put it–not “forcing it”. My latest WIP is a novel which I had no idea how to write. I still don’t, but am discovering what I need. It probably didn’t help that it started as an idea. Oh, well. Slowly I am discovering the heart of my MC and the style (inspired by but not morally gripped by 1950’s pulp) that works.
Ah, there’s that word again. Work. But really, what’s so bad about it? The work of writing is, for me, the best kind of rest.
I am just starting the fallow period that is associated with finishing the middle book of a mainstream trilogy, 186K words. I hate it. I lived in that universe for 22 years, and all I want to do is go on to the third book RIGHT NOW, but I have marketing to do for the first, and the publishing and marketing for the second, and I have been neglecting all of that for years and now it’s come due.
I actually tried to find someone to pay to do what I want to get the second book out – and haven’t found anyone who can help the way I want help. It will be easier, as usual, to do it myself, but it’s going to take time and all my energy.
I’m sure it will all come together in a few days, but I did not have this kind of letdown after the first volume, and I do not like how it feels.
If I had normal energy, I’d be fine. With my tiny daily allotment, I’m feeling stressed in ALL directions.
Resting is for people who can afford it.
Very helpful post, and the big take-away for me was the advice from your friend, “Don’t force it.” For over eight years now I’ve forced myself – or tried to force myself – to write despite a painful chronic condition that messes with my brain big time. In the last year of so, I’ve decided to allow myself to be more comfortable with a much slower pace and celebrate the days when I can write more than a couple of pages. Someday the book will be finished.
“I also want us to rest because it’s good for us, without keeping one eye on our eventual productivity goals.”
Yes.
Great post in all. I’ve learned to embrace the fallow times (and even blogged about it here on WU, years ago haha) because anything else just leads to a toxic mindset, which really only poisons yourself.