How do I finish a writing project I’ve been avoiding?
One of the many interesting things about being an editor and writing coach is that I get to see a lot of other people’s writing processes from the inside. I’ve found that many of my clients feel comfortable sharing things with me that they would never tell their advisors or colleagues.
And a pattern that comes up again and again is the profound anxiety and avoidance that so many scholars feel when faced with picking up a project they long ago put on the backburner (or even took off the stove entirely). And believe me: I’ve been there, too.
In my experience, it is not unusual for successful academics and graduate students to go months or even years without making significant progress on projects that they had, once upon a time, embarked on with enthusiasm. This can easily happen with projects in their early stages, but it also affects articles, reviews, and even books that are developed enough to be under deadline. I frequently work with people who feel intense resistance to the very idea of even opening that document—the one that haunts them in the middle of the night or detracts from the joy they deserve to feel about their other professional achievements.
There are all kinds of reasons why we might become this disconnected from a project. The most obvious one is overwork or burnout. Most people in academia are balancing too many spinning plates, and it’s easy for a long-term writing project to come crashing down because we’re contractually obliged to keep our eyes fixed on the plates marked “teaching,” “grant proposals,” and “service.” The systemic precarity experienced by many early and even mid-career academics makes this balancing act exponentially harder.
Other crucial factors include parenting and other caretaking responsibilities, physical and mental health challenges, neurodivergence, and the extra burdens and expectations put on scholars with marginalized identities. All in all, there are a lot of very real reasons why you and your writing project might “grow apart,” and most of them are not your fault. What, then, do you do about it?
Note: This blog post assumes that you should reconnect with the writing project in question. But there are admittedly some articles and books that just aren’t worth our time. So, before proceeding I recommend asking yourself: (a) am I required to finish this project?; and (b) do I want to? If the answer to both those questions is “no,” you may be better off directing your finite energies elsewhere.
Step One: Accept that Shame is a Time-Waster
The culture of silence that surrounds these kind of professional challenges creates a breeding ground for shame and self-recrimination for many of us. Indeed, my main purpose with this post is to try and puncture the illusion that this is an isolated issue or a “you problem.”
The official line in academia is that everyone is writing all the time, regardless of how many classes they’re teaching, or committees they’re serving on, or existential crises they’re fending off. In reality, this just isn’t true.
You’re not a “bad” or “lazy” academic just because you’ve been too busy or overwhelmed to write.
You didn’t “neglect” anything (this is such emotionally freighted language; that Word doc will survive just fine on its own).
You didn’t “mess up” because you didn’t meet a writing goal you might have set for the semester.
As my therapist often reminds me, most trees cannot thrive in hostile conditions. And most people are the same: throwing harsh words our own way is usually a self-defeating waste of time. We are much more likely to flourish when given sufficient light and nourishment (i.e. the kind of patience and kindness that you likely offer others automatically).
Yes, it can be worthwhile to reflect on what didn’t work this go around, and sometimes that means acknowledging that our goals were unrealistic or amorphous. Perhaps next semester you could try planning small, well-defined writing tasks around your other obligations. But, more than anything, I would recommend taking a deep breath, telling yourself that later is better than never, and getting stuck back in.
Oh, and just remember: you are absolutely not the only one.
Step Two: Intentionally Reconnect
Ease Your Way Back In
If you’re finding the imperative to “start writing again” too overwhelming or abstract, spend some time thinking of low-lift ways to reacquaint yourself with the project.
Here are some potential “easing in” activities:
print out your most recent draft, read it, and then annotate it or free-write in response.
re-read that source or article that got you excited to do this project in the first place.
listen to a lecture or podcast on a related topic. The New Books Network have a huge a backlog of academic interviews covering most disciplines, while the BBC’s In Our Time and Thinking Allowed regularly interview historians and social scientists about their work.
Take a friend or colleague our for a coffee (or something stronger), and explain your topic to them. It can be so motivating to have someone else engage with the ideas that have been swimming around my head for months—I can especially vouch for this after seeing it in action every week in my clients’ coaching sessions.
Lean into Pleasure
Learn from fiction writers and romanticize your writing project. Read fiction or popular nonfiction that relates to your topic, or create a playlist or vision board that you associate with it.
It may sound frivolous, but I’ve found this approach really helpful in my own practice. The closest that academic writing has ever come to being “easy” for me was when I was working on a project about existentialism and popular feminism in the early 1960s. I spent that semester listening to jazz, working in coffee shops and wearing a lot of black turtle necks and eyeliner (I did stop short of smoking Gauloises, though). And it actually worked!
If your topic doesn’t easily lend itself to romanticization (and, let’s face it, many of them don’t), consider romanticizing the very act of writing.
Many writers use their favorite scented candle, hot beverage, or atmospheric playlist, to lure themselves back to their desk, but you could try incorporating anything that adds a little pleasure to the process. Personally, I keep a heat pad on my office chair, which keeps my work environment cozy and stops me from getting stiff during long writing sessions.
Create a Mission Statement
Whenever I start work with a new coaching client, I ask them to complete one simple assignment: write a mission statement for their writing project. And it’s an effective clarifying activity to anyone feeling disconnected from their work. It’s a novel idea for most academics, who are often years-deep into projects whose purpose has come to seem sort of irrelevant.
To clarify: when I talk about your project’s “purpose,” I don’t just mean fulfill the requirements of my degree, get me a job, or contribute to my tenure dossier. I mean, why did you actually choose to work on this bloody thing in the first place. Can’t remember? Aren’t convinced the project ever had a “real” purpose to begin with? Now’s a great time to find one (better late than never!).
You might be surprised with what you come up with. After completing their mission statements, many people realize (or remember) that their projects are an expression of deep personal commitments.
Academic norms incentivize obscuring these kinds of personal or “subjective” investments in our own work. But it can be helpful to make these implicit stakes explicit, if only for ourselves.
Write your mission statement on a sticky note. Stick it on your wall. Revisit it often.
Step Three: Open that Document
You can do it. I promise.
Good Luck and Happy Writing!
Interested in Writing Coaching? I currently have room for one new coaching client. Learn more here or drop me a line to set up a free consultation.
