You Can Write Too Much

Or, how I panicked myself into writing three books at once.

‘I must make the most of this year,’ I told myself as I waited to be let into my first remote university Zoom call. I was so excited. Getting a Master’s degree (and a potential, eventual, hopeful PhD) had been a life goal I had aspired to since the minute I finished my undergraduate degree, and I was finally getting to do it!

This degree was different to any type of Master’s I had envisioned. I’d always imagined an on-campus analytical degree, probably in Film Studies, or Literature, or possibly even Cultural Studies. But this was an experimental remote degree in Creative Practice, something I’d never heard of before. It almost felt like I was making a mistake, but I also knew this would likely change my life.

I had to pick an endeavour for the year and I already knew what I was going to work on: a double horror novella exploring the grief and anger I had experienced when going through the worse period of my life. They were two stories I had trying to write since that time, and hadn’t managed to start. Doing this as my project would force me to confront and deal with that emotions, and as I had this entire year available to just work on this, I had no excuse.

And therein came the issue. I had too much time.

Novella One, Intermission, felt almost too easy to write. I blazed through Phases 1 and 2 in a glorious state of hyperfocus, and I quickly made plans to start working on The Good Ship Verden. Although there was a bit of a delay finishing Intermission, it was in a ‘finished’ state by January, and I decided I would move on.

But The Good Ship Verden didn’t come to me. In a panic, I decided to write a short story, to let myself feel like I’d completed something. And after one story came a second, and suddenly, I realised, with a few new stories and a few of my back catalogue, I had a collection. And I kept writing, and I kept writing, and I kept writing… until I couldn’t.

I got back from Sweden, with a lot on my plate and really aware I was getting close to burning out. Suddenly, it all felt overwhelming: one book completed, but another one to write, and a whole collection to work on, as well as releasing my third novella. Once the overwhelm hit me, I became completely paralysed. If I couldn’t finish my project, I was going to fail the degree, and then what was the point of taking this year off? The walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t even look at the projects without feeling panicky, and at one point, I even considered ghosting the degree.

The problem wasn’t necessarily the projects. The problem was that I put too much pressure on myself. I felt that if I wasn’t writing, and if I didn’t come out with a good amount of output in this time, then I had wasted the opportunity.

Since then, I’ve been working the immense guilt I’ve been feeling. I’m trying to ensure that I program in breaks for myself, and that I actually give myself time off. I’ve also decided that once these three books are completed, and the degree is done, I’m going to give myself an extended holiday from writing for a while, mostly to give myself time to reset my anxiety levels. There’s so much I want to do, research, try different art forms, release the tension from my shoulders. Writing is meant to be fun, so for the rest of the degree, I’m going to be seeking fun in writing, instead of output. And next time, I will remind myself that it is possible to write too much.