When was the last time you wrote consistently?
The last time you wrote…period?
If you’re struggling to come up with the answer, you’re not alone.
Maybe you haven’t written in months. Maybe you set down your manuscript when work got busy, or when your kids needed you, or when life simply demanded every ounce of energy you had, and there it’s been sitting ever since.
Or maybe you’ve only recently started calling yourself a writer at all—after years (or decades) of putting your own aspirations aside in favor of others’. After years of saying, someday.
If any of that sounds familiar, here’s something else you need to know: You are not behind.
It’s easy to look at other writers and feel like you’ve somehow missed your window.
Someone you follow on Instagram is publishing their third novel. Someone else is setting off for a writing retreat in Italy. Meanwhile, your notebook is buried under a stack of laundry, corporate expense reports, or both.
You already know that what you’re seeing on Instagram is just somebody else’s highlights. You don’t know the whole story, so you really can’t draw a fair comparison. But even if you could, there’s no need to. Because writing isn’t a race. There is no finish line, no leaderboard, and no gold medal. There’s only you, your words, and the promise you’ve made to yourself to keep showing up. (Or to start showing up, as the case may be.)
If you find yourself feeling “behind,” you don’t need to “catch up” to anyone. You only need to reconnect—with your voice, your curiosity, and your stories.
Comparison Is a Distraction, Not a Compass
Instagram vibes aside, there is no expiration date on a creative life. Some writers publish their debut novels at twenty-five. Others don’t pick up a pen until their kids are out of the house or they’re retired from corporate life. Some authors spend a decade revising one book; others hop from draft to draft.
None of those paths are more valid than another, and sticking your nose too far into other authors’ business won’t do you any good. When you focus on what other writers are doing, you lose sight of what brought you here in the first place: your own writing dreams, your own particular joy that comes from working through a story, the fulfillment that comes from honoring your unique creativity.
Sure, stay curious about how other authors work. There are as many routines and approaches as there are authors. But when you see someone writing faster than you or more than you, don’t ask yourself, “Why am I so far behind?” Instead, ask yourself, “Where is my curiosity leading me next?”
Seasons of Writing (and Rest)
Every writer’s creative life moves in seasons. You’ve all heard the metaphor of creativity and a farmer’s field, so I won’t rehash it here, but the bottom line is that there will be seasons of growth and seasons that look a little more barren. Both are valuable. Those barren seasons? It’s not that there’s nothing going on; it’s just that you can’t see tangible progress. You may have a story incubating in your brain, or you may be refilling the creative well with experiences and books and art and discoveries that will inform what you write about in your next productive season.
If you haven’t written in a while, maybe you’ve been in a “fallow” season. Spend some time reflecting on what that season has looked like. What formative experiences have you had? What beautiful art have you seen? How have you been challenged, physically, emotionally, mentally? “Everything is copy,” said Nora Ephron, and it’s true. Everything you’ve been doing in the time you’ve been away from the desk is fodder for your next high-productivity creative season.
By the time my son turned one, I hadn’t touched my creative practice for at least two years. Now? Everything I write and make is informed, whether directly or indirectly, by my experience becoming a mother.
I promise, stepping away doesn’t erase your identity as a writer. It forms it.
And in the same vein, if you’re reading this because you’ve come to writing for the very first time later in life, you bring something precious to the page: A life’s worth of perspective. You’ve gathered years of stories, experiences, challenges, and victories. You’re not behind—you’ve been collecting material.
I heard John A. McDermott (The Last Spirits of Manhattan) speak at BookPeople the other day, on a panel of three debut novelists. The two others were in their thirties, but John got a round of applause when he gave his advice for aspiring novelists:
Publishing is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m sixty years old and I’m a debut novelist.
Restart Small
Okay, that’s all well and good, but what about dusting off that notebook?
My advice: Start small.
If it’s been a minute, your writing muscles are likely out of shape. Trying a three-day-immersive reading retreat right away may be fun, but it will leave you burned out. Just like you would with the muscles in your body, start with lighter weights. A single paragraph a day. 10 minutes on weekdays. Maybe even just one sentence every evening. Then, as your muscles get stronger, you can start adding more weight without injury or burnout.
Momentum doesn’t come from grand plans or perfect routines—it comes from showing up, even in the smallest way, consistently enough to rebuild trust in your creative self.
You don’t have to make up for lost time. You just have to begin where you are.
(My free two-week writing reset is a great support for authors who are just starting to rebuild those muscles. I’d love to have you!)
Whatever moment you decide to recommit to your writing—or to pick up the pen for the very first time—is the right moment. Your creative journey is your own, and your practice will always be there for you. There’s no rush. No deadlines. No milestones that define your worth. Just you and your commitment to your creativity.
If this resonated with you, you might love what we’re doing inside The Inkwell—a community of writers who are showing up for their creative practice at every stage of life. It’s a space built on encouragement, realism, and the belief that your stories still matter. Always.