Writing isn’t just about talent. Or inspiration. Or some perfect moment when the words come effortlessly. Writing is about showing up, again and again, even when you don’t feel like it.
I just finished a novel I started fifteen years ago. Fifteen years. For a long time, I wasn’t sure I’d ever go back to it. Other projects took over. Life got in the way. Doubt crept in, whispering that if the book were worth finishing, I would have done it already. An early reader talked me out of it. I told myself the story had gone cold, that too much time had passed.
But stories don’t disappear. They wait. And eventually, I came back.
Revisiting an old manuscript is like picking up a conversation you barely remember starting. At first, the rhythm feels off. The voice is unfamiliar. The words belong to a version of you that no longer exists. Maybe your whole aesthetic has changed. But once I pushed through that awkwardness, I remembered why I started in the first place. And more importantly, I realized something: finishing is what separates writers from non-writers. Not speed. Not perfection. Just finishing.
The same perseverance applies to publishing your work. Some of the best short stories I’ve ever written were rejected twenty or more times before they found a home. It’s easy to take the first rejection (or second, or third) as a sign that the story isn’t good enough. But the seventh, the tenth, the twentieth—they start to feel like proof. But rejection isn’t a verdict. It’s just part of the process. As Faulkner said, "The writer lives in an atmosphere of rejection."
Every acceptance, every yes, is its own proof, that the only way to fail at writing is to stop trying.
This is the long game. Writing isn’t always about the rush of a new idea or the thrill of an early draft. It’s about the willingness to return, over and over, to an unfinished thing. To trust that what you’re making matters, even when no one else sees it yet.
If you’ve put something aside—if there’s a story, a novel, an idea gathering dust somewhere—maybe it’s time to pick it up again. Forget how long it’s been. Forget how many times you’ve been told no.
Your words are still there, waiting for you.
Writers, what’s the longest you’ve ever put aside a project before finishing it? Let’s talk about it in the comments.
Comments