Summary

The author reflects on the challenges of managing a surge of writing ideas during the pandemic, leading to a large number of unfinished drafts and a struggle to maintain productivity.

Abstract

The author begins by acknowledging the unexpected increase in writing productivity during the early days of quarantine, fueled by mixed emotions and extra time saved from commuting and social activities. This initial burst of creativity resulted in the creation of numerous drafts, but as the pandemic continued, the author's writing output slowed, and the abundance of ideas became overwhelming. The article explores the difficulty of choosing which drafts to develop and the distraction of constantly generating new ideas, which has led to a decrease in actual writing. Despite the desire to offer advice, the author admits to grappling with the same issues and emphasizes the importance of self-compassion during these unprecedented times.

Opinions

The author initially experienced a surge in writing productivity due to the quarantine, which was a surprising contrast to their pre-pandemic output.
The early success with quarantine writing provided a creative boost and a sense of accomplishment, but it also set a high bar for future productivity.
The abundance of ideas and drafts has become a source of stress and has led to a decrease in the author's ability to focus on and complete any single piece of writing.
The author recognizes the commonality of these writing struggles and finds comfort in the solidarity of the writing community, especially in the shared experience of the pandemic.
The author advocates for self-compassion and acknowledges that it's okay not to be highly productive during such a tumultuous period.

My 73 Unpublished Drafts Are Mocking Me

The quest for the next bright idea is keeping me from finishing any of them.

Everyone said, “don’t worry about trying to be productive during a pandemic. Be gentle with yourself.”

(Well, everyone except the social media influencers who were screeching from the rooftops about loving their new workout regimen, advocating a meditation routine, reminding you that it wasn’t too late to join in their multi-level-marketing scam, touting the benefits of cooking every meal, snack and “clean” smoothie from scratch, and filling Pinterest with inspirational photos of at-home crafts with their cherubic children. But, you know, nobody actually listened to them.)

Yet in the early days of quarantine, much to my surprise and delight, I found myself writing more productively than I had in a long time.

Maybe it was the mixed emotions that came with being trapped indoors. Back in the days of naivete when I thought a stay-at-home order surely couldn’t last more than two or three weeks, tops, it seemed a welcome respite from a hectic social and work and education calendar. As an introvert, I was happy to spend some time just recharging. I was working from home, emailing and texting from home, and taking online classes from home. The time I saved in commuting and doing outside activities was fully available to be poured back into writing. And even the inevitable loneliness and insecurity that came fresh on the heels of the at-home peace — despite my aforementioned introversion — found an outlet in writing my thoughts down and sharing them with others.

In the back of my mind, I knew this newfound energy and inspiration probably wouldn’t last. But I shoved that down and ignored it. And I churned out three to four pieces a week, a startling contrast to my recent pre-lockdown rate of approximately zero writing content at any time whatsoever.

I believe this phenomenon is generally referred to as “feast or famine.”

Now, three months later, I’m floating in some sort of limbo. The prolific output I enjoyed at the beginning of this venture has slowed mostly to a trickle, but though my actual writing has decreased, my ideas are still bouncing around like pinballs in a machine. Weirdly, the previous weeks’ productivity seems to be at least partly responsible for my lethargy these days.

I didn’t experience any kind of viral success with my earlier, energized quarantine writing, but it gave me the creative boost I needed to metaphorically get off my butt and actually write. Seeing responses and views slowly racking up — despite the comparatively small numbers — fueled my sense of accomplishment and made me want to write more.

As the ideas flowed in, I wrote them down. Usually a title and a subtitle, if I could think of them, generally on the rougher side but containing the bare bones of what I wanted to convey in the story. Then, a couple of bullet points. Then… it was off to the next brainstorm.

Pretty soon, those drafts started to add up. Every time I would sit down to work on one that already existed, another idea would flit into my head and off I’d race to get that one in writing before it vanished forever.

But there are only 24 hours in a day, and with a full-time job, I’m not able to devote even the majority of those hours to writing. Either I’m going to be determined and tenacious and stick to the task, or I’m going to careen from one rough draft bullet point to another.

When I sat down to write this piece I told myself I was going to begin at the beginning, write and write and write until I came to the end, and then I would allow myself to stop. No distractions. No interruptions.

…Then I got an idea for a different article and I opened a new tab and jotted a few ideas down. It was really quick. I promise.

I have a sneaking suspicion that this is what’s killed my mojo lately. Chasing after the perfect new topic has left me exhausted and unable to give my full attention to any of the older ones who have been languishing in my drafts folder. When I do pull one of them out, I have a hard time keeping my mind on the task at hand, and I keep wondering if I’ll feel more inspired if I work on something else.

I’ve written less in July than in any other month this year. The cumulative word count of all the bits-and-pieces I’ve cobbled together is probably pretty high. But it’s not worth reading. At least not yet.

I wish I could offer some foolproof tips to other writers who are struggling with this same problem, but I can’t. I’m struggling with it right alongside you.

But then, that’s one of the reasons I read other people’s personal essays. I want to know about the struggle to write and the difficulty in finding the elusive words you want and the creeping feeling of depression and impostor syndrome that inevitably accompanies a lack of creativity. I want to know how you’re coping with the same problems facing me, even if you don’t have all the answers yet — because I don’t either. “We’re all in this together” may become the most hackneyed phrase of 2020, but where the incentive to write — or lack thereof — is concerned, it gives me some comfort.

I really can’t offer any words of wisdom. All I can say is… the world is still upside down. Don’t beat yourself up over not being sufficiently productive. We are still fighting a pandemic. Life has changed a lot. Be gentle with yourself.

I’m trying to come up with a good conclusion for this piece, and— oops. One second. Just had a new idea.

I’ll be right back.