Is it possible to get back to writing after over 3 years? At that time was the last time i was able to finish something but i was already unhappy with it, later i stuck completely, anything i tried to write later wasn't worth to keep. I'm really tired of deleting and crying, i really miss writing but every thing i puke out is terrible. I know nobody can be any better without trying, I don't want it to be perfect, its not too high expectations but i want to be able to start at least.
We all take a break from our writing, and if I’m being honest, coming back to it after a break is much, much harder than starting from scratch. I think the stuck feeling, tears, deletions and imposter syndrome are something that every single writer in the world can relate to, and it isn’t something you need to feel shame over. What it shows is that you still care very much about your work.
Coming back after a long time away from writing can often feel like you’ve lost something. It can feel like wasted years when you weren’t improving, and a loss of talent, because you’ve inevitably become rustier. Writing is a practice, and when you stop practicing, you deskill, and that can be hugely demotivating.
Why starting again feels harder than starting from nothing
Coming back after a long time away from writing can often feel like you’ve lost something. It can feel like wasted years when you weren’t improving, and a loss of talent, because you’ve inevitably become rustier. Writing is a practice, and when you stop practicing, you deskill, and that can be hugely demotivating. It’s like you’re being observed by the ghost of what could have been.
If you left a project unfinished, or stopped because you weren’t happy with the direction it was going, then you start your writing journey fresh from a place of disappointment. You’re not staring at a blank page anymore. You’re staring at the weight of expectation that comes with a) having to refamiliarise yourself with a projects you don’t remember, b) returning to a project you’re not longer passionate about, or c) starting from scratch and getting rid of all the hard work that past you did.
It can be easy to fall into the trap of trying to prove to yourself that you can do this. But that’s the worst way to approach writing after a long time away. You need to give yourself the time to reskill and get back into the swing of things. You wouldn’t ask a marathon runner to just go for it without a warm up, so why should writing be any different? We put pressure on ourselves to just pick up where we left off, but that’s just not possible. You have to ease in to it, and learn to love the act of writing again.
The problem isn’t the writing, it’s what you’re asking it to be
As much as we say we don’t want our writing to be perfect, it’s easy to say but harder to believe. We know we shouldn’t expect it, but realistically, we’re always disappointed when it’s not. The really important thing is to make sure you don’t dwell on that disappointment. If every sentence is judged the moment it exists, then you’ll never be happy. The fact that it exists, is the first step, and it’s important to reframe its very existence as enough.
Most working writers go through these exact same thought processes and fears. Plenty of writing advice and craft books talk about the idea of bad first drafts, but it’s honestly some of the best and most important advice. No first draft comes into the world fully formed as a masterpiece. It takes time, work, and revision. There are pages that exist just for the sake of words on the page, with no obligation to be shown to anyone. It’s how writing works, and coming back after time away just means you’ll have to commit to some additional drafting to get back into the swing of things.
Right now, “worth keeping” is the wrong measure entirely. It’s not about whether it’s worth keeping, but rather about the fact that it was written at all. If you put words on the page you committed to improving and moving forward, and that’s the whole job. Stop thinking in terms of the worth of your words, and rethink to consider the worth of the act of writing itself.
How to actually start again
Rebuilding after a long break works best when you shrink the target. A few ways to do that:
Give yourself a word or time limit, not a quality one. Ten minutes, or a hundred words, with no goal beyond finishing the timer. When the target is time rather than quality, you can’t fail by writing something bad. I do regular freewrites. I set a timer, and don’t think. I just write whatever comes into my head. Most times it’s nonsense, but that’s not the point. The point is just to get into the writing flow and just flex those creative muscles without getting in my own head.
Write somewhere that doesn’t feel sacred. A notes app, a scrap document, anywhere that doesn’t carry the weight of “this is my project that I need to progress.” New, low-stakes spaces are easier to be messy in. I have project-related brain dump files for when I want to just explore some ideas or have a bit of a creative play, but know it might not progress the actual manuscript.
Start with anything that isn’t your project. Diving straight into a big project after time away can feel really overwhelming. So it can often help to start small. This can be anything from description of your room, a memory, a made-up character who has nothing to do with the story you’ve been stuck on, or a writing prompt. Taking the pressure off the “real” project can be enough to get your creative muscles moving again.
Separate writing from judging. Don’t let yourself reread and evaluate as you write. Write first, decide what needs to happen with it later. I’m a huge fan of fast drafting. I don’t edit as I write. If I want to make a change, I make a note of it and write from that point as if I’ve already made the change. This stops unecessary revision and judgement on a project that’s probably going to change in a hundred different ways from when I first started.
What to do when the cycle repeats
Imposter syndrome is not something that just magically disappears. Every creative in the world experiences it. It’s universal. You just have to push through and always strive to learn and improve. Writing is a skill you can learn, so improvement is always available to you. Instead of focusing on what you can’t do and falling back into the cycle of doubt, build a habit, and think of it as learning, rather than doing.
When you feel the urge to delete something, don’t. Copy it somewhere else instead, like a scrap file, a folder, or a document that sits somewhere outside your project. You don’t have to decide today whether it’s worth keeping, but often great ideas live in those scrap piles, and they can also be good metrics to show your improvement. Because when you can actually see and measure how much better you’ve become, you can start to think to the future and consider how much better you’ll be again with even more practice.
You don’t need to write well, you just need to write
Three years is a long time to carry the memory of a piece you weren’t proud of, and it makes complete sense to feel disillusioned when you return and can’t make the words flow exactly as you want. Skills don’t disappear, they just go a little rusty, so give yourself the time and space to get back into the flow.
Your writing doesn’t need to be perect, it just needs to exist. Because once it exists, it can be improved. As Jodi Picoult said:
“You can’t edit a blank page.”
If you’re rebuilding a writing habit, it might also help to think about how you fit writing around the rest of your life, so the habit has somewhere realistic to live. And when you do eventually have pages to look back on, remind yourself that judging your own work doesn’t have to be overwhelming either, that part can wait until you’re ready for it.
For now, stop reading, open a blank page, and give yourself permission to write one bad, unfinished, completely unimpressive sentence. Just start. Everything else will come later.
