Not Being a Writer: An Experiment

By Liza Nash Taylor  |  August 12, 2024  | 

Recently, I parted ways with my agent and although I know it was the right decision, it’s still gut-wrenching.

Soon after, I sent out a couple of queries and had a request for the full of my latest manuscript. That agent asked for an exclusive look for two weeks. I agreed and withdrew my other queries. The exclusive teased out to a month. She said no.

Fair enough. This is not my first rodeo.

The next day, I sent the full to another agent who had asked to see it, if it was available after the exclusive ran out. After saving the draft I sent to her, I made a new Scrivener document called “Draft Seven”, intending to incorporate the first rejecting agent’s critical input, which I was grateful to receive. I intended to revise, then send out more queries.

When I began, that morning, to rework the opening of my novel, I fumbled. I tripped, started again, stopped, then consumed a full bag of M&M’s (the ‘sharing’ size). Like a floodgate opening, self-doubt rushed in and I felt like I was bobbing around some pretty rank water, trying not to panic and to remember how to float. I doubted I could fix what was wrong and wasn’t even sure what to change. Every shred of negative feedback I’ve ever received on anything I ever wrote came raining down. Should I switch from first person POV to close third? Should I Save the Cat?

After a few more days and a ‘no’ from the second agent, I decided I needed time to stew, contemplate, and process. To float for a bit. Because, yes, those feelings of rejection and failure I was pushing away were absolutely real.

Then I thought, why just step back? Why not walk away?

Please don’t write me off (no pun intended) as a slacker who can’t take criticism. I have and I can. This was a crossroads moment. My third novel has been under construction for three years, and it hasn’t come easily. Soon, I’ll turn sixty-five. Instead of writing, I could use my time to make dollhouses and to garden. Maybe I could become a more interactive grandmother. Maybe I’d order a Jitterbug flip phone and take up Prancercizing!

Afloat in the balmy sea of denial, I decided I’d try Not Being A Writer (henceforward, NBAW) for a few weeks and see how it felt.

My first week of NBAW involved some tidying up of loose ends, beginning on Sunday with a book club talk that had been on my calendar for months. The group had read my second novel, In All Good Faith, which was published in August 2021. I gave the 25-minute PowerPoint slideshow I usually give, with lots of vintage photographs from the Great Depression. After my talk, there was chitchat, with cheese cubes. As always, interacting with readers was gratifying. Someone asked when my next book would come out and I gave my pat answer: I’m revising. I didn’t know how to say that I was no longer writing.

On Monday, I read an ARC of a debut novel by a friend from my MFA program. I’d agreed to write a blurb. I remembered the agony of asking authors for blurbs and the thrill of seeing their words in print on my book jackets. Later in the day, I received an email about a fabulous-looking writing conference in Rome. But, wait, thought I, I don’t do those anymore.

Rome, tho.

On Tuesday, I logged onto my website. I debated. I could just shut down the site or post an announcement that, as of X DAY, I am NBAW, but check out my Prancercize channel on YouTube and TikTok! That sort of public self-canceling seemed a tad melodramatic and, frankly, I didn’t expect the news would send shockwaves through the writing community.

But why stop there? I could do a lot of private self-canceling and stop pulling my hair out over this gosh-darned novel. What if I opened draft seven and just hit “delete”? What if I then deleted Scrivener and the files of period photos from the era I was writing about? The research? Click, click, click, and I could well and truly NBAW. I could retool my Instagram and Facebook bios, delete my Facebook author page and the free MailChimp account that sends my infrequent newsletters. I could unsubscribe from the writing blogs and podcasts I enjoy. Maybe there were compelling dollhouse podcasts and gardening newsletters I could sign up for instead.

Hmm. This was getting complicated.

On Wednesday, I double-checked my quarterly WU piece for June: word count, proper formatting, copyright-free feature image, leading question (in bold); check, check, check. (Loading a post here is a skill set unto itself and even after being a regular contributor for three years, I still have to go over Therese’s checklist. Every. Doggone. Time.) Then I experienced my quarterly wavelet of anxiety over setting the automatic post feature because—god forbid—nobody wants to wear the dunce cap of a premature poster. With everything checked off, I logged out, feeling a sense of accomplishment. I love writing for WU. I love this community and what it offers. Do I walk away?

On Thursday, I finished critiquing six entries for a writing contest sponsored by the Women’s Fiction Writers Association which I’d volunteered to judge for the preliminary round. Each entry included twenty opening pages by aspiring novelists. I submitted my feedback and silently wished the entrants fortitude. For a hot nostalgic second, I envied their hopefulness and remembered marshaling the confidence to enter my first writing contests, the agony of waiting for results, the disappointment that often followed, but also, the thrill of winning or placing.

The next day, I received a notice to renew my annual membership to the sponsoring organization of the contest I’d judged. I debated—fork over another $58, or let it lapse? This begged the bigger question: do I tell my writer friends that sorry, no, I won’t blurb their books or beta read for them, because I am NBAW? I’m as capable of doing those things as I was last week. My writing buddies have had my back. Do I have to break up with them? Since I began taking creative writing courses in 2013, I’ve had classmates, critique groups, MFA workshop peers and advisors, two agents, editors, and a publicist and traditional publisher for two novels. I’ve taught classes and seminars, and attended writing retreats and residencies and hosted groups of writers myself. Writing is part of my identity.

For the rest of week one of NBAW, I didn’t touch my manuscript. I did some intense work in my garden. I vanquished, hacked, pruned without mercy, sweating it out in the heat dome. Over two days, I power washed most of the outdoor surfaces around my home. Frankly, power washing is such a therapeutic activity we should have to pay to do it because it’s just so darned gratifying. No mold on my bricks! I’VE GOT ALL THE POWER. Boom! I worked on my dollhouse, accomplishing tiny tasks and learning tiny new skills with power tools. (Like the power washer, power tools can be wonderfully empowering, IMHO.) Next, I visited a friend and stayed overnight and talked about everything except writing. And you know what? I felt better.

It’s been a couple of weeks now, since I resolved to try to not be. In the recent newsletter of the writing contest I helped judge, I saw that an entry I critiqued is one of five finalists. Today, a friend who was a beta reader for me asked me to return the favor. I was invited to present at a book festival in October. I haven’t deleted my website, even though that meant renewing and paying the site and domain fee for another year.

Despite my attempts at distraction, that slavering, hellhound siren that is my WIP has been clawing on the door and will not go away. It howls so that I might have to let it in and give it a drink of water and maybe a thorough power wash, because, at night, I dream about draft seven. New plot points come to me, unbidden, while moss spores blast from the porch steps. I whisper voice notes into my phone while adding bags of M&M’s to my cart at checkout at Lowe’s. When I play them back, I hear Backstreet Boys playing on the PA system overhead. While staining tiny cedar dollhouse shingles, I’m still mentally sequencing what might be snappy, streamlined new opening chapters.

I still haven’t gone back into starting a new draft, but I’ve dipped into some of my favorite craft books, including Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction, a Guide to Narrative Craft and a new favorite, Donald Maass’ The Emotional Craft of Fiction. It’s riddled with yellow sticky notes. The advice feels personal, and the authors feel like kindred spirits. This post for WU has been on my schedule all year. Sitting on my front porch, drafting it by hand, I realize that I’ve used up more than half the pages of the very last of my favorite writing pads, which I buy in bulk from Levenger. Each pad has 250 lined sheets of wonderful paper (500, if one uses the backs).

Hmm. Should I order another five-pack?

There’s free shipping today.

Have you tried to stop writing? If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’re at it again. What made you come back?

38 Comments

  1. Vaughn Roycroft on August 12, 2024 at 8:53 am

    Hey Liza — Very relatable essay! I enjoyed reading it. Thank you. Have you ever considered rewriting that hellhound WIP just for you? I mean, without a thought for satisfying another soul (let alone a gatekeeper)? You could just put it out there for whoever finds their way to it. Few readers perceive the difference between a thoughtfully crafted self-pub book and a traditional pub offering. And even those who do perceive it attach far less stigma to it than most writers do.

    I’m leaving out all of the economic considerations, of course, but it could be another sort of experiment. One that just might be revealing and–who knows?–maybe even fulfilling. You can always go back to trad with the next one. Just a thought. Best wishes!

    • Deb Boone on August 12, 2024 at 10:57 am

      Vaughn, my thoughts mirror yours. Thank you!

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:41 am

      Thanks for reading, Vaughn, and for your thoughtful comments. I like the idea of writing the next draft just to please myself. If/when I get through that, I will look for another agent and hope to be traditionally published again. At this point, I just need to get my butt back in the chair!

  2. Toni L Evans on August 12, 2024 at 10:00 am

    You must know there are loads of us who really did stop writing but read the occasional WU post and the like. I clicked on this one and thank you for being vulnerable. That is how we grow, right? It’s a hard thing, rejection. Very different from why we wrote.

    • Liza Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:45 am

      Hi Toni. Thanks for your comment. You’re right, about how our possible feelings of rejection are not what we consider when we sit down to write in the first place. I know when I “finished” my first manuscript I had no idea at all what lay ahead as regards finding an agent and getting a publishing contract, etc. I suspect that having been through the process twice, the toll it takes is hanging over me. You’re also right about the lessons we learn from rejection—especially if it includes specific, constructive criticism—are super valuable.

  3. Cathy on August 12, 2024 at 10:19 am

    Why am I only learning now that Prancercize is a viable alternative to query hell?

    • Liza Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:46 am

      Haha! Thanks for reading, Cathy.

  4. Therese Walsh on August 12, 2024 at 10:35 am

    Keep your eye out for a package of new notebooks, Liza! You’ll need those to WRITE ON.

    • Deborah Boone on August 12, 2024 at 10:41 am

      What an awesome thing to do, Therese. I love this community and you’re the heart here.

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:47 am

      Ah, Therese! Thank you. And thank you for all of your help and advice with my posts over the past few years. Someday, I might actually master loading the feature photograph!

  5. Karen Duvall on August 12, 2024 at 10:47 am

    Hugs to you, Liza! I’ve been where you are now, did all the NBAW things you talked about, and it stretched on for years, however I was never a NBAW purist. I simply couldn’t let it all go. It appears you may be in the same spot. Since my “fall” (after getting dropped from Harlequin and later firing my agent) I’ve written 3 more manuscripts. Are those books published? No. Am I still looking for an agent. No. I’ve taken back the reigns and will be self-publishing for my next go-around.

    I’m a writer and I can’t stop. I suspect you can’t either. :D And that’s okay. I wish you the best in all your future endeavors, power-washing and doll-house making included. Do what you love to do!

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:49 am

      Hi Karen. Good for you! I wish you all the best. I feel your pain about traditional publishing. Thanks for your support.

  6. Therese Anne Fowler on August 12, 2024 at 10:49 am

    I’ve done the NBAW dance a few times myself, especially in the last few years, with similar effects. I don’t know what the answers are (for you or myself), but I send you support for whatever your path will be. xx

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:51 am

      Hi Therese. Thanks for your comment. I remember how you spoke about perseverance in your keynote at the UnConference, and how inspiring that was. Thanks for your support!

  7. Denise Willson on August 12, 2024 at 11:06 am

    Liza, follow your gut. It’ll know what to do. Chances are, you needed a break. The muse will find you again in one form or another. In the meantime, enjoy life to the fullest, whatever that looks like.

    Hugs,
    Dee

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:52 am

      Hi Dee. Thanks! Comments like yours are why I love our WU community.

  8. Deb Boone on August 12, 2024 at 11:25 am

    Liza, this post speaks to where I am right now. For the first time in decades (not including life circumstances) I have taken a long sabbatical from writing, one where I’ve been pondering if it’s all worth the criticism, the rejection, the crickets.
    I’ve lasted 3 months. To be fair, month one was spent in Switzerland and N. Italy. I’m taking the bucket list trips my guy and I planned before he died.
    June was filled with family events and celebrations. July came with the yard work, the hacking, sawing and removing a dwarf lime tree that didn’t understand its role and gifted me hundreds of pounds of limes annually. And I’m allergic to the foliage.And of course, then I had to landscape the giant bare area….
    It’s amazing the excuses we make to avoid writing when the entire time we’re away the stories in our head or in process (like my story based in Afghanistan that is well past 7 drafts) are churning inside us.
    I can’t quit. But as Vaughn so wisely wrote, I can write for me. Put the words on the page that need to be there and ignore what others, especially the gatekeepers, might say.
    I’m making notes. I’m scribbling pieces of dialogue on the back of whatever is handy. (I’m thinking your pack of pads may be in my future). The joy is returning. And the hope that maybe my stories will impact at least one reader.

    Liza, thank you for being so open. I needed to know I’m not alone in this journey of uncertainty. Keep doing what you’re doing until the joy returns. And when those pads arrive that Therese is sending, open up to all the possibilities that are waiting within. We’re all waiting for your story, we need your story, and consider Vaughn’s suggestions.

    Thanks to everyone posting here. Your comments are helping me too.

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 11:55 am

      Hi Deb. Thanks so much for sharing your similar experiences. As I said in a comment above, this is why I love WU so much. When I wrote this post I was afraid I might look like a whiner. I’m encouraged to see that you’ve had many of the same experiences. Good for you for taking that trip. It must have been bittersweet. (Sounds like a great premise for a novel…)

  9. Allen Amos on August 12, 2024 at 11:28 am

    You’re way too good to give it up. You’ll get there…just need to take a summer break. Don’t we all? How about the day after Labor Day to restart your motor?

  10. Ellen cassidy on August 12, 2024 at 11:48 am

    i can totally relate to this. I am nowhere nearly as accomplished as you, and I am mostly NBAW these days. I’ve self pubbed a WF novel, one short story collection, and have my second short story collection I’m trying to finish. I struggle bw “Why bother?” to, “You can’t stop now.” I am NOT one of those writers who can “write just for me.” My words don’t mean much to me if they don’t resonate with others. So in that regard I’m screwed, as we all know how hard it is getting more than 25 people not from our inner circle to not just read, but give feedback/reviews. This is a tough gig, that’s for sure. Anyway, a good and timely post, and I wish you peace in wherever your writing path goes!

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 12:54 pm

      Hi Ellen. You’re so right, it’s a tough gig. But it can also be really rewarding. Thanks for your encouragement and for reading and commenting. Best to you, as well, on your journey.

  11. Beth on August 12, 2024 at 12:22 pm

    How about writing a book about a writer who wants to quit writing but can’t? There could be such dire plot consequences for both quitting and not-quitting…
    ;)

  12. Carol Coven Grannick on August 12, 2024 at 12:31 pm

    Completely identify with what led to NBAW, although I never had that particular urge to quit writing. Instead, I decided back in 2012 to stop submitting. The break worked amazingly well to free me to write exactly what I wanted to write, refine my skills as a self-editor, take whatever workshops appealed to me, etc. Luckily that all ‘stuck’ in the decade-plus years I’ve continued to write, revise, submit, get rejected, have some publishing success, etc. But whatever we write, we’re in one of the creative fields generally disrespected and misunderstood, and creatives face many, many more rejections than many other professions. My albatross: agents who “believe in your work, love your work” until they can’t sell it relatively quickly.

  13. Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 12:58 pm

    Carol, i’m encouraged to hear from a writer who made it out the other side. It is a process. Best wishes to you for continued success.

  14. Tom Bentley on August 12, 2024 at 1:52 pm

    Liza, after power washing your identity as a writer here, and stripping it down, you found out: you’re still a writer. And as this post attests, a fine one. Keep Levenger in business.

  15. Bob Cohn on August 12, 2024 at 2:38 pm

    Great post! I’m convinced that if I never doubted myself, I wouldn’t be trying hard enough to do something worthwhile. It works but I can’t recommend it. M&Ms aside, there’s gotta be a less painful way. (BTW, I have eaten that bag of peanut M&Ms with far less provocation.) Keep the faith. I look forward to the news that revisions are underway and further submissions have been added to the calendar. Excelsior!

  16. Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 4:15 pm

    Thanks, Bob. The comments today, including yours, have been so encouraging. You’re right, that the hardest things can cause a lot of self-doubt. I’m glad to know I’m not alone.

  17. Vijaya Bodach on August 12, 2024 at 6:35 pm

    Thanks so much for sharing your experiment, Liza. How can you NOT be a writer? We’d be so much poorer here without you. And how sweet of Therese to get you that pack of your favorite notepads! I just purchased some 3-subject notebooks (with pockets) for the start of the new school year :)

    I’ve had to take breaks from writing due to family obligations and illness, but my imagination keeps on, so it’s painful not to write. That’s why I need those notebooks–to scribble s few thoughts. I find the business of writing can make me lose the joy, so my solution has been to not submit like Carol above. Daydreaming, thinking about my story is where my joy lies, so I always come back to the story. I also found great freedom in self-publishing. So I do both–trade and SP.

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 12, 2024 at 10:15 pm

      Hi Vijaya. Thanks for your kind comments! I love hearing that you also have a favorite writing prop.

  18. Maria Coletta McLean on August 13, 2024 at 5:50 am

    I read your piece today and as soon as I saw your photo at the end of it, I thought, ‘She’s a writer.’ So my advice (unsolicited)is to keep writing. Forget about age. I went to university at 40 intending to graduate as a school teacher but life happens and my husband died and I took over his business, and then went back to school and somehow became a writer. My first book was published in 2021 (I was in my 50’s then. Another one 10 years later and this current one last year (77). And I’m still writing simply because that’s what writers do. I’m also still teaching at Seneca College. Forget age, remember you’re a writer, and best of luck to you with your next book. Maria

    • LIza Nash Taylor on August 13, 2024 at 11:33 am

      Hi Maria. Thanks for your kind response. Your story is most encouraging!

  19. Alice Fleury on August 13, 2024 at 5:35 pm

    I loved this post. I laughed a little. And you gave me hope. I’m excited for you to have 2 books published in only 10 years. I’ve been writing for 20. Not published and 69 years old. Thanks. And lots of luck finding a new agent. .

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 14, 2024 at 4:24 pm

      Hi Alice. Thanks for commenting. Thanks for your well-wishes. I’m so pleased to hear that you have continued to write for twenty years! Goals!

  20. Maryann Miller on August 15, 2024 at 5:56 pm

    Wow, Liza. I really related to the post, minus the power-washing, tho. Last time I tried to hold the nozzle it got away from me and I unpotted a couple of nearby plants. My son is great and comes to do that chore for me now.
    There was a time a few years ago when I entertained the idea of quitting, and I’m convinced I just needed some time away. To be busy with other things and not think about the fact that I felt stale as a writer.
    Something that a writer once told me has always brought me back, “Writing is more than something I do, it’s an integral part of who I am.”
    Now I toy with the idea of not doing this writing stuff every day, but something always draws me back to the keyboard. I think it’s what my friend said. Writing is in our blood and unless we get a full body transfusion, I don’t think we can simply stop.
    Good luck with your searching for an answer.

    • Liza Nash Taylor on August 16, 2024 at 2:13 pm

      Hi Maryann. Thanks for commenting. I’m so glad to hear I’m not alone, and it inspires me to hear from writer’s who’ve taken a break and come back. I signed up for that writer’s conference in Rome!

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