Why don't I write anymore?

A writer's quarter-life crisis

When I was fifteen, my writing seemed magical. I wrote essays to get “A’s in tough classes. I won cash prizes in teen story-writing contests. I flirted with my first boyfriend by sending him little poems throughout the school day.

In other words, writing was how I got what I wanted. Picking up a pen gave me a sense of agency, and I sincerely believed in my own magic.

At some point, that changed.

Practicality and the dreaded odds

Later in high school, my mother pushed me harder to be practical. She told me I would need to find a day job, and my writing was a distraction. I got the same message from relatives, teachers, friends’ parents, and even the media.

I started to believe in the negativity. I worried about the “odds,” wondering if I would ever get published. Only a small percentage of writers ever published a novel, and even fewer made enough money to write full-time. Many successful authors got lucky or already had good connections.

A writing career seemed next to impossible, scarcely worth trying. A nearby university housed a nationally ranked creative writing program, but I didn’t even apply. In a post-2008 world, I needed to think about the future, and no one would hire a girl with a creative writing degree. Once I graduated and found a good job, then I could try writing. At least then, if I never published anything (and I probably wouldn’t), I would be safe.

Trying to thread the needle

I spent the next decade of my life trying to strike the balance between my dreams and the harsh reality. I worked in the publishing and library worlds, hoping to at least get to work with books. When those environments turned out to be toxic, I gave up. I got a boring but stable tech job coordinating product releases. Now, I would finally be able to write — right?

Now comes the plot twist. After so many years of being practical, I’d gotten the stable, safe day job I’d thought was a prerequisite to writing. And I couldn’t stand it.

“You don’t look like someone who works in tech.” — I get this comment a lot, and I can’t disagree. I don’t look like someone who works in tech. I show up at meetings wearing crystal jewelry and sitting in front of a bookcase filled with fantasy novels. I look out of place because I am out of place.

I was desperate to get out of this job. I could sense that I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, but how could I get my life back on the right track?

Obviously, not by writing. No, those scary odds still lived rent-free in my head. I would need to try something else.

The cycle repeats

I decided on another practical solution — a side hustle. I would start a YouTube channel! Eventually, I would monetize it and leave my day job. Besides, my channel could serve as my author platform, and everyone knows authors with a following are more likely to find an agent (those pesky odds again!).

So, I started making YouTube videos. For a while, it was fun! I love filming, I learned new skills, and I got to be creative.

But… I still wasn’t writing. As my channel grew, I spent more and more time making videos; by now, it takes me about fifteen hours to create a single six-minute video. And the more time I spent making videos, the less time I spent writing.

I told myself that was fine. I would have more time to write once my channel took off and I could quit my day job. Once again, I put off my writing.

What finally snapped me out of it

I couldn’t see the cycle I was trapped in, constantly pushing my writing aside for other, more immediate concerns. Writing felt too risky to even attempt until everything else in my life was perfect.

Then I started writing on Substack. And I remembered what fun felt like.

I thought I would only post a couple of times a month, but I’ve been posting twice a week, plus commenting and sharing notes. “It feels so good to just write,” I told my husband, “to be part of a community of writers.”

Substack reminded me of what I’d wanted all along, what I’d worked so hard for yet kept pushing away. I want to be a writer, and that means I just need to write.

Starting over

Looking back at my first decade of adulthood, I wish I’d done many things differently. I wish I hadn’t internalized the negative attitudes around me. I wish I’d had the courage to go after my dreams. Mine is a classic quarter-life crisis with a creative twist.

I can’t change the past, but I can start over. I can confront my current relationship with creativity and try again. This time, I won’t make excuses, and I won’t try to be practical. There’s nothing to do first and no boxes to check. If I want to write, I can just write.

I’m taking a break from YouTube while I reorient myself. I’m going to spend the next few months writing whatever I want to. That means Substack, fiction, poetry, maybe even my novel. I’m going to write without obsessing over the dreaded odds.

The point isn’t success. No, the point is to invite joy and creativity back into my life. And maybe, over time, I can start to believe in my own magic again.

To be honest, I’m a little nervous to share this article. I usually try to be so optimistic about creativity, and it’s hard to admit how down I can get sometimes. I’ve made some really big mistakes! But if even one other person can see themselves in my experience, I want to share it. I hope we can all break ourselves out of these negative cycles.