When to Give Up
When to let go of a project and start something new.
The relentless rains of August have officially hit Keep Writing, which means summer’s end is just around the corner. If you’re new here at KW, warmest welcomes to you, although we are very sorry about all the rain. Tug on your galoshes and help yourself to the wild blueberry pie on the table as you wade through the puddles of our archives.
This month, I want to discuss giving up on a project: When and why to do it, plus how to hopefully feel some peace if you decide to let something go.
But it’s a tricky topic. We live in a society that values grit and tenacity, and we operate in an industry that requires it. How many times have I sung “never give up” in this very newsletter, and how many times will I sing it again? A world with such built-in rejection requires a constant refrain. And if every writer gave up on a project when things got tough, we’d have no books on our shelves.
But not every draft we start should be published.
And therein lies the rub.
How do you know if you’ve hit a rough patch with your project or if the whole project is the rough patch? When should you muddle through and when are you just prolonging the inevitable?
Here’s the thing: I believe every problem in a draft is fixable. Every single one. The issue is that some problems take a lot more time and energy to fix than others. Some may require you to change the entire shape and structure of your work. Maybe you thought you were throwing a pot and it turned into a vase; maybe you hoped to build a humble shed and find yourself with a sprawling McMansion.
You can dig your way out of a manuscript hole, always.
The question becomes: Do you want to?
If you believe the world truly needs this story, I think you should keep going. I think you need to. I think you should find a way to dial into your creative reserves and keep moving forward. I think that’s an easy choice.
And if you’ve got a deadline or contract, well, that’s another easy choice.
But there are a thousand other scenarios that aren’t as cut-and-dry. You’ve lost the urgency that used to bring you to the page; you’ve made like the Righteous Brothers and lost that lovin’ feeling. You’re distracted by a shiny new idea. You’ve realized the startling amount of hours it will take to fix the manuscript, and you’re concerned your time may be better spent starting anew. Your project now feels stale and unpublishable in the years since you’ve started it. You worry it isn’t salable. You worry it isn’t interesting. You worry it’s a waste of time.
You feel so paralyzed over whether to give up or start something new that you don’t write anything.
How do we know if this is a moment to buckle down and keep going or hop off the horse and head to greener pastures?
Maybe a good place to start is by addressing the guilt or uncertainty you feel over scrapping something in the first place—because if you didn’t have any, I’m betting you’d have already switched gears by now.
And I’m a completionist to my core, so I get the angst that comes with “giving up” on something we start. I really do. Giving up on something often feels like a profound moral failing I will someday have to atone for, as if some Christmas Eve I will be visited by three well-meaning Manuscript Ghosts who force me to bear witness to all the drafts I abandoned along the way. But here’s the thing—or, rather, three things:
Letting go of a personal project that you started of your own will and accord is not a moral failing. Your time is your own, and only you can decide how best to spend it. You’re the captain of this ship, baby! You can spin the wheel and head off in whichever direction your heart desires. Or you can burn down the whole ship and open up an artisanal popsicle shop instead. There’s no one right way forward, and no one can tell you what’s best to do, so seize the wheel, or wear it as a hat, or dress it up as a giant octopus.
Setting down a manuscript is not a murder. You aren’t driving a stake through its heart so it can never rise again. It’s going to live on your hard drive or the cloud or your notebooks. You can go back to it at any time. Sure, it’ll take a bit of time to re-acclimate yourself to your work, but that can be a good thing in disguise: Time away will help you gain objectivity, allowing you to better see inherent problems and solutions.
No writing is wasted, and no time spent writing is wasted. Period. Putting aside something that isn’t working is not a waste of time. You can plumb these depths for good sentences later. You can recycle any gems into a future draft. These ideas that you’ve hatched will stay with you. These thoughts will not un-think themselves.
Holding a finished product in your hands is not your only proof of time well spent. There are so, so many beautiful drafts in the world that will never be published due to factors outside the writer’s control: luck, gatekeeping from publishers, the whims of the market, etc. We must unlink “minutes well spent” from “number of drafts published” for the sake of our own sanity.
If I sound a little ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ about all this, it’s because I know in time you’ll figure out what’s right for you. Because everyone does. The only certainty of time is that it passes. The only certainty of spending enough time doing anything is that we learn from the hours we spend.
So you will, over time, learn to recognize your patterns. You will learn to recognize when you’ve reached an impasse or when you’ve just reached a whiny part of the road you need to ease down. You will gain a better sense of what your gut is trying to tell you. You will also gain a better sense of your shortcomings. If you have a towering stack of unfinished projects in your wake, that’s perhaps a sign that you should roll up your sleeves and try pushing through this rough patch. If this is the first thing you’ve considered abandoning, cut yourself some slack. This is the first time you’ve faced this dilemma; of course you’re not sure how to move forward.
And when all else fails, I’d suggest paying close attention to the source of the dread rising in your belly.
If it’s pulsing at the thought of spending one more day with this project when you could be starting something new, try something new. You can always go back if the vibes aren’t right. Maybe some time away will prove to be just what the doctor ordered.
If it’s simple dread at the thought of quitting because you feel like you should be able to power through whatever you put your mind to, I’d ask you to consider whether the hours you’d pour into this are equal to the satisfaction you’d receive. Because it may be a resounding “yes”—that the feeling of crossing the finish line is well worth the effort expended. It is for many. However, if all you’d have to show for it is a completed manuscript you feel zero enthusiasm for, perhaps letting go now is a better use of your energy.
And, finally, if that dread is there out of fear—fear that you aren’t enough, good or smart or tenacious enough to climb over this latest block or untangle this plot hole—I would urge you to keep going. Because you are enough. You are. So dig deep and resist the urge to bolt. Keep repeating what you know: The only certainty of time is that it passes. The only certainty of spending enough time doing anything is that we learn from the hours we spend. Keep moving, keep nudging the ball forward, keep trying to look that fear in the eye. Every day you show up is another chance to meet its gaze. Every day you show up it becomes just a little quieter in your ear.
And I wish I could tell you that it’d eventually go away. That with enough work or experience or success, it’ll magically vanish of its own accord. But I don’t know that it will. I think it might just get easier to live with. To look it in the eye, wave to it in the margins, acknowledge its permanence in the back of your mind.
And then keep going anyway.
Until next month—
Keep writing,
Nicki
Upcoming calls for submissions
Spotlight: Talk Vomit: “American gothic” and “caregiving” submissions
Academy for Teachers: Flash fiction starring teacher protagonists
Wyldcraft Literary Magazine: Submissions on “the thinning of the veil”
Broken Tribe Press: Manuscripts from recent MFA graduates
Spotlight Pick
Talk Vomit: “American gothic” and “caregiving” submissions
Talk Vomit, “a literary magazine based out of Massachusetts that harbors a willful longing for when the internet was still fun,” is accepting submissions for two different themed issues. The fall edition will have a theme of “American gothic.” Editors say they “are particularly interested in stories that consider themes of class, non-city living, the institution of motherhood, and gender, but all facets of American culture are welcome for exploration. One might consider writers like Shirley Jackson, Toni Morrison, William Faulkner, and Stephen King as stand-out examples in the genre.” The winter edition has a theme of “caregiving.” For this theme, editors explain “We are especially interested in the emotional nuances of caregiving, its physical demands, and its psychological aftermath. What does it mean to be cared for? What does it mean to care for others, at all stages of life?” Send “non-fiction under 4,000 words, fiction under 2,000, and poetry just generally kept to a minimum.” Payment is $10 to $30 for prose and $5 to 15 for poetry.
Deadline: Sept. 1
Academy for Teachers: Flash fiction starring teacher protagonists
Just in time for back to school: Send stories between 6 and 499 words that feature a K-12 teacher as the protagonist/narrator for your chance to win $1,000 in the Academy For Teachers’ “Stories Out of School” annual flash fiction contest. The judge for 2024 is ALA Carnegie Medal and LA Times Book Prize winner Rebecca Makkai. Writers need not be teachers but must be over 18 to enter.
Deadline: Sept. 1
Superpresent: “Road Trip”
For its Fall 2024 issue, the quarterly magazine Superpresent seeks submissions that have to do with its chosen theme of “Road Trip.” Send up to three poems (one per page) or 500-2,000 words of prose (essays or short stories). No submission fees.
Deadline: Sept. 1
Skeleton Flowers Press: Autumnal equinox submissions
Skeleton Flowers Press is seeking submissions for the first volume of its Autumnal Equinox series. “The theme of this volume is the equinox itself,” editors explain. “Mabon is the modern name of a pagan holiday that celebrates the autumnal equinox, coined by Aidan Kelly in the 1970s in reference to Mabon ap Modron. For this issue, we encourage you to consider what calls to you during the time of the equinox. Whether it’s the reminder of balance, death, gratitude, reflection, or simply a memory you associate with the season.” Send fiction, nonfiction, or poetry under 8,000 words. No limit to how many pieces a writer can send. No submission fees, no payments that I can find.
Deadline: Sept. 7
NOMADOLOGY: “The Modern Prometheus” submissions
For its inaugural edition, this new quarterly review based out of Singapore is seeking submissions on “The Modern Prometheus.” “We invite writers and artists to explore with us the duality of creation — the exhilarating possibilities it offers, and the shadows of uncertainty it casts,” editors explain. “From tales of technological advancements to reflections on societal upheaval, we seek to capture the essence and courage of Prometheus — the Titan who dared defy the Olympian gods and bestow upon humanity the gift of fire and the skill of metalwork, igniting both progress and peril.” Send 5 poems (max 40 lines), one essay (max 5,000 words), one long short story (max 5,000 words), or three shorter fiction pieces (max 1500 words). No submission fees. Payment is 3 SGD.
Deadline: Sept. 14
Wyldcraft Literary Magazine: Submissions on “the thinning of the veil”
Wyldcraft Literary Magazine, “a grassroots, female-run literary magazine” is looking for submissions on “the thinning of the veil,” however submitters choose to interpret that theme. Send poetry or prose in any form (“spells, recipes, obituaries, grocery lists, legal citations, horoscopes – we’re open-minded”) that is no longer than 1500 words. No submission fees.
Deadline: Sept. 15
Havok: Flash fiction with a “Remember December” theme
Havok specializes in flash fiction (300 to 1,000 words) in mystery, sci-fi, comedy, thriller, and fantasy genres that is based on one of its “season themes.” The last installment of this year’s theme series is “Remember December.” Writers should send flash with a “strong personal voice” and “make your story reflect something about that month of the year.”
Deadline: Sept. 27
Broken Tribe Press: Manuscripts from recent MFA graduates
Anyone who has completed an MFA in Creative Writing in the past five years is eligible to submit an unpublished manuscript for The Broken Tribe Press MFA Award. Any genres are welcome, but the manuscript must be more than 60 pages (excluding front and back matter). Applicants will be required to upload a copy of their degree or transcript. Submission fee: $10.
Deadline: Sept. 30