Writing Lately: When the Hobby Becomes the Work

Writing (with thought bubbles) in a journal at a desk with other journals and a laptop

It took me ten years to complete and publish my first novel.

Back up. It wasn’t actually the first novel I’d written—just the first one I believed had a fighting chance in the world. What started as a grief-fueled outlet after the tragic loss of a friend eventually morphed into a full-fledged fiction project. I wrote. I revised. I shared that manuscript with more critique partners than I can count and three editors, for good measure. I queried and got... crickets. So I rinsed and repeated. It was grueling. But I stuck with it out of stubborn love and quiet conviction, determined to see that story through.

Writing has always been my way of making sense of life, or at least escaping it now and then. It’s where I explore the world and my place in it, through one character at a time. And even in the early days, I dreamed of publishing. I wanted to share a story that meant something. Not just with anyone, but with readers who might feel the same way about these fictional people as I did.

I never put an expiration date on that dream. I was ready to revise, rewrite, and rework as long as it took. Ten years, as it turned out.

That first novel came out a little over two years ago. A second followed the year after—written while I was still fine-tuning the first for its big debut.

Somewhere along the way, writing stopped being a pastime and became… well, work.

Typing on a laptop

Let me clarify: it’s not my day job (shoutout to my fellow full-time teachers), but it is my other full-time job. And balancing both is like juggling flaming swords on a tightrope during a windstorm. I dream of the day writing becomes my one and only professional hat—retirement is peeking over the horizon. But for now, I’m managing both gigs with varying levels of caffeine and composure.

Here’s the thing nobody warns you about: once you publish, especially if your debut does well, the pressure creeps in. Quietly at first, then with jazz hands. Most of it is self-imposed, sure, but some of it is inherent to the job.

The second book? It did better than the first, which was as surprising as it was gratifying. Naturally, I had to ask: Why? It’s multi-POV. It’s more plot-driven. It’s twistier. The themes are more universal. Great! Now just do that again—but differently. Better. No pressure.

So now, as I approach book three, the stakes feel higher. I’m not just writing. I’m leveling up—again. I’ve made a promise to myself as an author: each book must achieve something new. I don’t want to become a formulaic writer, writing the same story over and over like the same trope with a rotating cast. I want to stretch. Surprise. Keep things fresh. 

But that pressure to keep every book fresh, original, and creatively ambitious? Totally self-imposed—and exhausting. When you’re constantly trying to outsmart your own last plot twist, the creative process can feel less like a joyful sprint and more like assembling IKEA furniture with missing screws. I’m always on the hunt for that next fresh angle, unique structure, or voice that makes the story stand out.

Then there’s the issue of timeliness. I spent ten years writing one book. If I take another five for the next one, will my readers still be around? Or will they have moved on to the next shiny author with a TikTok following and three-episode Netflix deal? I’ve put a lot of work into building my brand, showing up online, and marketing my work. That visibility is great—but it also comes with the looming pressure to “strike while the iron’s hot.” Or at least while the algorithm still remembers my name.

Being with a publisher now takes some pressure off. I don’t have to submit a perfectly polished manuscript straight out the gate. I have editors for that. But I do miss the earlier part of the process—when critique partners gave me wild “what if” ideas that spun my brain in new directions. Now, I send a couple of drafts to a few trusted beta readers, apply their feedback, and hit “send” to my publisher. It’s more efficient. It has to be. But sometimes, I miss the messy magic of more eyes and more time.

So yes—writing has become a job. But it’s still my favorite job. It’s just less wine and whimsy and more deadline and discipline. And I wouldn’t have it any other way… except maybe with a little more time and a little less pressure.