Welcome to the first post on my newly relaunched blog. This post is a reflection on how I returned to my creative life after drifting away, and what reconnecting with writing after 45 has taught me about autonomy and resilience.
A Hell of a Long Gap Between Books
This week I realized it’s been 17 years since I was last published in book format. What a gap!
In the mid-2000s, I was commissioned to write a book that would later go on to be self-published by the organization I was working for, and win an award. That book became Proud Past Bright Future, a historical account of the formation and living legacy of Montreal’s oldest Black congregation. To my knowledge, you won’t be able to find copies for purchase unless, by some miracle, the church still has some left. The book went through two editions and isn’t available unless you find it in a Canadian library.
You Can’t Outrun Grief
Before the opportunity to write that book came my way, I was a freelance writer by day and a customer service representative by night. The latter was, and still is, typical employment for twenty-something English speakers in Montreal. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy those jobs, but I did meet a lovely person there who remains a friend to this day. More importantly, having a job from 12 to 9 PM or 4 to 11 PM allowed me to do what I loved most during the day—writing, of course.
From the time I graduated from university, my focus was to become a freelance writer. So, I applied for writing jobs and pitched one article idea after another until I finally got a yes. My overall writing experience was challenging, but I kept it moving. Bylines were racking up in magazines and newspapers. One of my short stories was published in an anthology. This went on for several years until PPBF came into my life.
The work I did leading up to PPBF was necessary training, and I’m beyond grateful for that experience. But those freelancing years were hard. Looking back, they definitely helped me build grit, but at the time they were stressful, financially unstable, and certainly not good for my already precarious nervous system. The life of a freelance writer—while renting alone and without a “real” job—is challenging, and I don’t recommend it unless you have well-paying, steady gigs or a part-time job.
Things in my life continued to hang on by a thread until I realized I hadn’t properly grieved two important familial deaths and I couldn’t keep up the grind. Bills were accumulating, student loans were collecting interest, and rent had to be paid. A sacrifice had to be made, so I pivoted to a job that became my foray into digital marketing and eventually payment processing.
Those jobs made a financial difference in my life, and again, I’m beyond grateful that I stopped agonizing about how I would pay rent. My personal debt continued to be an unwanted presence, but bit by bit it held a less invasive place in my life.
The Slow Death of Literary Citizenship
I didn’t quit creative writing entirely. However, writing and communications quickly became a priority for my employers. Several times a month I’d write press releases or blogs, or ghostwrite industry articles while also managing accounts. From time to time, colleagues would say, “You’re such a great writer.” Meanwhile, my personal creativity and literary citizenship dwindled. I stopped going to workshops and participating in writing groups. I paid less attention to writing and reading fiction, and frankly, I became a terrible writing group member. I did manage to read good books here and there—the further the commute, the more reading time I got on the bus or metro.
Soon, I was only writing sparingly for myself. Those creative sprints came during rare moments of inspiration or while I was in between jobs. I used those chances to write creatively, but on the whole, I was allowing my literary hopes and dreams to die slowly. Then, the COVID-19 pandemic hit.
The Pandemic Pause
Like so many other people out there, 2020 to 2022 was a test of resilience and deep reflection. I often asked myself, “What do you really want to do with the rest of your life?” This question stayed with me. I even tried designing and running a drop-shipping website with my niece, but that was a total failure due to slow shipping and tariffs driving up the price of goods.
I returned to that question: “What do you really want to do with the rest of your life?” It certainly wasn’t groveling to potential employers, begging for more than three weeks of vacation, and justifying my salary expectations. The one thing that remained tried and true in my life—besides big baby Jesus—was writing. The more I thought about returning to a creative lifestyle, the lighter my spirit felt.
So, I dusted off some short stories I’d written over the last decade and read what I’d drafted. Something surprising happened—I wasn’t entirely repulsed by my own writing! My heart ached less. That unsettling feeling in my stomach—the one that hit every time I thought about applying for yet another job—began to fade. The more moves I made toward writing and literary citizenship, the better my body felt. I’m not kidding. I suffered from cluster headaches during the pandemic. If you’ve never experienced them, consider yourself blessed, because they feel like someone stabbed you in the head and forgot to take the knife out.
Healing and a Shift in the right Direction
Over time, I knew this was the right direction for my soul. Therein lies the beginning of my reconnection to writing in a whole new and improved way.
For several months, I returned to exercise whenever the cluster headaches didn’t render me useless. My nutritional diet and literary consumption changed. I dedicated my days to all things reading and writing. I was a literary fiction fiend back in the day and still love it, but over the years during my unsteady reading habits, I leaned more towards thrillers, crime fiction, and discovered that I enjoy certain types of horror.
I tried sitting at my desk by 9:30 AM on weekday mornings to churn out as many words as I could. Eventually, I learned that this wasn’t a guarantee of high-quality writing. These habits changed once I understood that I’m not that type of writer on a daily basis.
Rebuilding My Creative Life
Becoming a hermit made me restless and hate socializing, but I pushed myself. I went to book launches and other events. I attended Shut Up and Write meetings in my city. Then, I made a big-girl decision and attended a literary conference. Back when I was an active literary citizen, I loved going to these types of grand events. But that big, bad, terrible spirit called fear made a grand appearance. The only way to overcome that was to do the scary thing anyway.
How I Honour My Creativity Now
Today, I don’t have an ironclad routine, and I try not to beat myself up if I don’t reach a desired word count or share my progress with anyone for accountability purposes (though that may change). This doesn’t mean I’m spontaneous or desire to only hang out with myself. My creativity is honoured in several ways, but here are just a few of them:
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Honouring Creative Autonomy
I’m on my way to age 50 faster than I care to acknowledge. My younger self would have been overly worried about the opinions of others, tried to write what was trendy instead of what was calling me, or attempted to fit my creative work around my paying work. Today, I try to be intentional about making art a priority. I try not to care as much and just, well, write—even if some of my work never gets in front of another pair of eyes. Admittedly, suffering through perimenopause makes this easier and helps me have fewer Fs to give.
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Honouring Creative Waves
Not every day will be productive on the page. A day isn’t lost if you didn’t write anything; it can still be productive in other ways. When the creative waves go out, I read, go to the gym, head to the library for research, listen to podcasts, go for long walks, or engage in something else. When the creative waves return, nine times out of ten I’m ready to write again with a much fuller imagination.
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Honouring Creative Mental Health
I’ve been in therapy and am still in therapy. One thing I’ve learned is that things like fear, self-doubt, and the need for validation never disappear completely. You may worry that your in-progress manuscript is garbage. You may doubt your ability to deliver credible feedback in a writing group. You may erase whole characters or change a part of your plot to adapt to a trend that in the end may feel inauthentic. That pick-me syndrome may be so strong you’re willing to do anything for a book deal. The key is accepting that these feelings will be present. The anxiety may rise or fall depending on the day. Find ways to navigate these emotions without letting them take up too much space or, worse, cause you to lose yourself.
There are plenty of other things I could say about honouring creativity, but you get the idea.
The Novel That Died and the Life That Didn’t
In 2021, I hunkered down to write my second novel—still unpublished. I did this for three years while working non-literary side gigs to earn income. The result was a novel inspired by my formative years in a small town. Completing the project wasn’t easy, but like the novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo years ago, it felt incredible to have a manuscript full of characters I’d come to love like children.
You should not be surprised that my second novel did not go anywhere. I sent that baby out to any agent or publisher who would accept it. What started as a short story became a full 90,000-word historical drama that piqued interest here and there during submission. But in the end, it died.
Was there sadness and disappointment? Absolutely. Did it crush my hopes and dreams for these characters to resonate with readers? No doubt. But such is the life of a high-concept, historical fiction manuscript.
Moving Forward
Ultimately, I’m thrilled to be continuing this literary journey. There’s no full-time job sucking the creative soul out of me. There is no shame in having dedicated years to a project that was rejected by multiple times. Every part of this journey is a learning experience. And at this stage of my life, I finally understand that I’m not writing toward a career so much as I’m writing toward a well-rounded creative life. I wish I’d recognized this sooner, but such is life.
I’ve already moved on to the next project. Not out of desperation, but out of a commitment to this creative life of mine. Writing is the one constant that has always called me back, and I’m answering without hesitation.
Thank you for taking the time out to be here. If you’ve made it this far in this post, bless you. You could be on YouTube or on Instagram. You could be on Substack—of which I am too—reading some other creator’s content. However, you chose to be here on my good old-fashioned website, so I’d like to welcome you.
Please feel free to bookmark this website. There will be an opportunity to sign up to a newsletter as well as more blog posts, including what actually happened with my novel that was rejected, and what I’m working on next.
