Happy Black History Month! I hope you’re finding some joy even in the midst of our dumpster fire world. My goal to be on this blog got a little derailed recently. Writing doesn’t pay the bills right now, so I made room in my schedule for work that actually does. When I’m not working on my latest creative project, I work as a certified fraud examiner (CFE) on a subcontract basis. Sometimes that means having to suspend—or divide—time between two industries and assignments instead of one.
Anyway, I’m back for a bit and wanted to highlight the experience of writing for yourself when no one else is reading your work, or only a few people see your prose, or the manuscript you hoped would garner a book deal was rejected by everyone and their mother.
The Road of the Unpublished Writer
The road to completing a manuscript can be long and lonely—especially if you’re a midlife writer like myself who has toiled away at short stories, novellas, and novels over a long period of time without any of those works being traditionally published. For those not interested in self-publishing, we often hope that our time as unpublished writers will be short-lived and that once we’ve completed that breathtaking manuscript, it will be acquired by an agent and then by a publisher, even if it’s for a modest advance.
The reality is that there are seasons where we polish our manuscripts, start submitting, and absolutely nothing happens. The work remains unseen with the exception of beta readers, agents, and/or editors. Agents send rejection letters—or don’t reply at all. Publishers may ask for a full manuscript after a sample submission, circulate your work to multiple editors, and then come back with a polite, vague, “This just isn’t for us right now.” And you’re left wondering what the bloody hell just happened.
That time period leading up to a published book is not for the weak. There are a ton of emotions, mental games, and too many starts and stops to mention, all of which can lead to the words “I quit!” I strongly suggest that you don’t entertain those words. At all.
Trust the Process
Remember that saying “trust the process”? What does that process even look like for unpublished writers over 40? Let’s explore.
Thanks to the interwebs, we don’t have to do a deep dive on the origins of this phrase because Bleacher Report already did that, and its roots are sports-related, which makes all the sense in the world. Basketball players compete season after season to reach the NBA championships. The Stanley Cup is the coveted prize for hockey players. Trust the Process applies to every sports league. It applies to writers in publishing, too.
You and I are effectively living the life of an athlete in extended training—with little to no tangible wins. You’re experimenting with creative tools, reading and writing regularly as part of your conditioning and skill development. There’s no better way to “win” right now than to keep refining your craft. We’re all an apprentice until we become masters at our craft, whatever that may look like. For some of us that could mean simply getting our book published. For others, it could mean reaching bestseller status.
However, this can be even harder for writers like us who are midlife, not MFA graduates, and who decide to write with an eye toward traditional publishing.
You’re Writing Alone, Not in Isolation
Thankfully, we don’t have to go through this journey by ourselves. There are local writing organizations to help you hone your craft. Online forums provide a virtual community for creatives. You might even join a writing group to workshop poetry or chapters. In-person workshops are my preferred method to connect with other writers.
Our days are spent consuming a healthy literary diet. We read poetry, short stories, novellas, and novels—work that nourishes the mind and helps you become a better writer. I’ve tried to create my own tailored MFA. You probably have too.
The point I’m trying to make is that even though you’re writing for an audience of one, you’re not isolated—at least, you shouldn’t be. This is why it’s still necessary to show your writing to others. Your work has value because these practices are deliberate and hone you, the writer. This is a legitimate part of the writing life, and just because no one knows your work yet doesn’t mean you’re a failure.
Sometimes Shame Comes with the Territory
This prolonged period can feel shameful and make you question whether there’s any point in continuing. I’ve visited that place multiple times over the last 17 years—more so since 2021. It’s no excuse to quit, because the alternative can be worse. I quite for a while and you know what? I was miserable. And I made others miserable. If writing is in your DNA, you actually feel unwell—or angry—when you’re not doing it.
It can feel terrible when people find out that you’re writing a book and ask when it will be out (you know it won’t), or ask for the name of your agent (you have none). Trying to answer questions like this can be embarrassing if you’re not as thick-skinned or have knowledge about the industry, and that’s okay, because we don’t always have answers. Sometimes the plans you had for a novel don’t materialize. Still, you have to keep going. You have to be intentional even when no one else sees you.
Community Helps Us Keep Going
I may have mentioned before on my blog that I go to church and have been part of a faith community for a while now. My pastor emphasizes the importance of community and why we’re not meant to journey alone. Short story workshops are a way to step into community. They help you recognize what part of your writing works and what doesn’t.
I’m a hermit through and through, but I know I can’t journey alone. Every now and then, I pop out to share early drafts. Having a room full of peers review your work helps immensely. You may get suggestions for fixing a plot hole or confirmation that a seemingly insignificant character deserves more attention. I know, I know. More work and revising. Still, it could be the insight you wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.
It also helps to talk about rejection—with your therapist, other writers, or creatives in general. Sharing war stories reminds you that you’re not alone in the trenches. This kind of healthy trauma bonding can even lead to encouragement in the face of rejection and useful insights: tips for your next submission, or knowledge about personnel changes at agencies that put previous rejections in greater context.
Staying Sane
There are ways to live out this season so your mental health doesn’t get the best of you. Keep writing. Use prompts. Become more disciplined.
One of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve heard comes from American screenwriter and TV producer Shonda Rhimes. One evening while doomscrolling on Instagram, I saw a video where she encouraged writers to “write one good page.” I love this advice. I’ve practiced it, and it works. On a good day, I’ll write more than one good page. But I think the bigger message here is that many creatives struggle and if you’re a writer, you’re not alone in your fight to write some good quality content. One good page, or half a page, or a paragraph is better than a blank one.
Keep writing and revising. As much as I loathe revision, it has improved my characters, plot, and overall story. Last year, I resumed work on a collection of short stories and in one particular piece, I had to fully embody a character and write from her first person point of view instead of the third person POV in which the story was originally written. This made a significant difference. I still hate revising, but there’s no denying its necessity. I’m a work in progress—but revision has helped me recognize when I’m producing good writing.
Solitude vs. Isolation
The hardest part of this unseen phase of writing is the psychological impact. Mental health can suffer—and sometimes physical health too. That’s why it’s important to go out and “touch grass,” as the young people say. During the pandemic when I was in the throes of novel writing, I would go outside for an hour-long mental walk to my local park. Smelling fresh air, getting natural vitamin D, and taking time to smell trees can be just the time you need to iron out story issues. I don’t remember which writer said it, but even when you’re not writing, you’re writing.
I love solitude. It works for me. Isolation does not. Solitude allows me to produce my most creative work. I’ve been both the isolated writer and the writer in solitude, and the latter is far better. Isolation is not recommended. Remember to do some physical activity. Reach out occasionally to friends or however often you need human touch besides that of your own. Choose yourself.
Choosing Yourself as a Writer
Choosing yourself means intentionally carving time out of your schedule to write and create. You must give yourself permission—especially if your day job, or the people around you, don’t.
It also means engaging with others in the literary community. I know this can be tough for us introverts that curl up into a ball at the thought of socializing with others, but it’s good to go out in person and stay abreast of what’s happening among your peers.
Show up consistently for yourself and your characters. Keep refining your storytelling skills. Learn the difference between shelving a project and quitting entirely. Sometimes it’s “not now,” not “never.”
Markers of Progress
I recently attended a Writer’s Digest virtual course that refreshed what I’d forgotten and updated my understanding of the publishing industry. One key point was learning how to interpret feedback from editors. To get this feedback, you must submit. It’s a necessary stage of your writing career. There are no acceptances or rejections without submitting.
Form rejections are cold. No response is worse. Ambiguity is brutal. But there are markers of progress. When feedback becomes more specific—even when the answer is no—that’s a sign you’re getting closer. When you reach that stage, jump for joy. You still have skin in the game.
Write Anyway
None of this is easy. Writing demands dedication and commitment, even when the only fuel we have is our characters and story ideas. Those are important and they must anchor us—not trends or external validation from the publishing industry.
You may be the only audience for your many unpublished manuscripts. You may have been at it for years and nothing has materialized. But we’re all in the same boat and your work deserves to be brought to life. Hopefully, you’ll keep going to make that happen.
