Hey friends,
You'll notice that today's newsletter is coming a day late. While I could make all kinds of reasonable excuses (e.g., it's a long weekend in the U.S.; I enjoyed a lovely Valentine's Day weekend and lost track of time; etc.), the truth is that I'm feeling a little blue.
There are valid reasons for this, too: the uncertainty and upheaval that has troubled me for the past year continues to dog my steps (though I'm beginning to outpace it, I think) and seasonal depression/good old-fashioned depression/anxiety are a great tag-team trio (this week has consistent highs around 60ºF/16ºC though! I'm going to go outside so much!). But these conditions are (unfortunately) nothing new. What's confounding and complicating things right now is the tricksy specter of post-achievement depression—what I like to call the frayed lining.
I'm not complaining about finishing my book, okay? I'm not even finished—just on a break. But there's something about hitting a major milestone, about hitting pause on a project, that takes the wind out of my sails, so to speak. Maybe it's the loss of a sense of progress or momentum; maybe it's the time that opens back up, and all the things that rush in to fill the cavity; maybe it's a nagging sense that what's been finished wasn't up to snuff. Likely it's some combination thereof—and regardless, the feeling is unpleasant.
It's like the inverse of a silver lining, basically: the cloth is well-woven, but the lining is frayed—and the more you worry at it, the more it unravels. This is another one of those problems for which awareness doesn't offer relief. If anything, it makes matters worse—draws attention to the edges, to the threads poking out.
In some ways this is a good problem to have—especially now, for me, at this point in my writing process. For one: the thing itself is (nearly) done, and despite my worry, I'm pretty happy with it. For two: this gives me good practice for dealing with these feelings when I'll actually be done with the book, at which point they'll become more poignant. So how does one deal with a frayed lining? If you'll indulge the metaphor a little further, I have some ideas:
When actually dealing with fraying edges, you have a few options*: cutting, sealing, and stitching. Cutting is the quickest, simplest and least effective on its own; it involves simply nipping and tucking the fraying threads to avoid further snags and unraveling. Sealing uses heat, tape, or chemicals to cover, protect, and preserve the fraying sections, preventing further issues. Stitches add to the garment being mended, fixing and binding the raw edges in place, making them neat and whole. Often some combination of these methods is used, depending on the time available and the severity of the fraying.
I think metaphorical fraying can be mended using some version of these techniques too. For example: In my situation, cutting may look like distracting myself with a different or new project; sealing may look like addressing my worries or insecurities by meeting with early readers for feedback; and stitching may look like taking the time for honest reflection on the process of writing the novel, on the good and bad, with an eye toward recapturing my momentum when I begin again—and, eventually, for when I begin anew. These solutions will look different for every project and every bout with post-achievement depression—but they're of a type. One kind will snip away bad feelings; one will smooth them over; one will add something new, and better.
That doesn't make taking action and pursuing any type of solution easy, of course. But maybe it makes it easier.
* To anyone with actual knowledge of sewing and garment repair: please go easy on me. I just like metaphors.
