Coming off The Big Project

You’ve probably had at least one in your writing life. Maybe it’s the thing that made you want to start writing in the first place. It’s definitely kept you up at night, made you spend a small fortune on craft books and classes, and driven you to distraction. It’s your reason for not hanging out with your friends, for holing up in your room, for not eating more vegetables (okay, maybe not that one, but you’re so used to this thing being the center of your life that perhaps it’s pushed even peas and carrots out of the way).

It’s The Big Project. You pour everything into it, maybe for years. And then one day, The Big Project is done. Perhaps it’s just put on pause as you wait for agents or editors to reply to your queries, or maybe it’s done for good because it’s out on the market. Maybe you’ve burnt out on it or realized it was going nowhere, so you’ve used the manuscript as a learning experience—and a way to prop up the short leg of your dining room table.

Whichever way you slice it, you can’t tinker with The Big Project anymore. Your Moby Dick or Peter Pan is out of reach, and unlike those other crazy captains of the high seas, you realize this. I mean, you really, really know this thing that has controlled your life has suddenly vanished.

What’s a writer to do when The Big Project is suddenly done, either temporarily or for good? It can open up a black hole of existential angst, and it can also open up new opportunities for your creativity. Having just (temporarily) finished one of my own Big Projects, I’ve had to look at how my use of my creative energy has changed. For me, my process is a blend of observing and planning.

To some degree, I try to simply observe what I’m interested in writing. I keep a running list of ideas for new short stories as well as a file of short-story drafts, so if something from either group grabs my attention after I finish (or "finish") a Big Project, I tinker with it. Sometimes this results in a completed project, especially if I work on something I started a while back and can look at with fresh eyes, but sometimes it ends up as another first draft that goes in the long-term file, and that's okay. After all, at this stage of the game, nothing compares to my long-lost white whale, which held my attention for so long.

This is where planning comes in. I try to think ahead a little bit when I’m finishing up a Big Project so my future self isn’t left floundering in a sea of writing detritus in the form of unappealing time-killers. At this point, I still need most of my focus and energy on the Big Project, but I think, “What do I think I’d enjoy working on in three months? Six? Twelve?” It’s probably too soon for another Big Project to breach the surface of the waves and make a splash against the horizon, but a general idea will present itself. In my case, I wanted to revise what I had rather than start new stories (so far, this is working out) and perhaps overhaul an earlier Big Project that was almost there but not quite.

Both strategies together give me hope for another Big Project that will absorb my attention and keep me excited enough to work on it for another couple years. And until I find it, I can enjoy that transitory period between Big Projects and use it to improve my craft—and my patience.