I Quit Writing, and Then I Wrote My Debut Novel

It took me a decade to get published.

I say that up front, because I used to scroll through these types of articles, hunting for proof that published authors had struggled as much as me—that my journey wasn’t unusual.

(I Got 8 Agent Offers, Then My Book Died on Sub.)

If this is you, you’re not alone. My path to becoming an author was anything but short, and it almost ended before it really began.

I started writing during my senior year of college and wrote three full manuscripts before landing my first agent. At this point, I thought I’d made it. I’d finally emerged from the query trenches (pop the champagne!). But when my agent and I submitted to publishers, manuscript three didn’t sell. About a year later, manuscript four didn’t sell either.

Heartbroken, I parted ways with my first agent to regroup. Manuscript five would be different. I wrote a new story, a better story, went back to the query trenches, and landed a new agent—my dream agent—but when we went on submission, the manuscript didn’t sell.

I’d like to say that I couldn’t believe it, but the truth is that it felt inevitable. I was beginning to believe that my work would never be published.

Writing hadn’t been easy for me. I was working a full-time job in advertising—a notoriously demanding career—and waking up at five a.m. to write in the tiny margins of my life. I was exhausted, sacrificing my social life, and I felt like my sacrifices would never amount to anything.

So after that fifth manuscript didn’t sell, I quit.

I closed Scrivener which had been perpetually minimized on my laptop for almost eight years. I changed my alarms to seven a.m. And I decided in my heart and soul that I was not a writer anymore.

I hardly lasted three months before returning to the page—but quitting changed my life.

If you’ve ever thought about giving up, I’m not here to encourage you to keep going. I’m here to say, “Do it. Quit.” Because quitting for three months, ridding myself of the pressure to write, is the very thing that made me a published author.

As writers, we’re often subjected to the “never give up” narrative. We’re told to keep going at all costs—but I think you should only keep going if you can’t stop. And I didn’t know that I couldn’t stop until I tried.

After three months of relatively late mornings and the freedom to focus solely on my advertising career, I was well-rested but miserable. I felt like a part of me was missing.

The itch to tell stories returned, but as I reopened Scrivener, I made myself a deal. I would do things differently this time. I wouldn’t focus so narrowly on the goal of getting published. I would write for the sake of writing.

This shift in mindset didn’t do much to change my actual schedule or the logistics of completing a manuscript with a full-time job—but it changed my attitude.

I started savoring the dark hours before emails came pinging in. I cared less about word count goals and more about the creative rush that follows a good writing session. Most importantly, I stopped trying to write a story that I believed others would deem important, and I wrote a story that I wanted to write. That’s the story that finally sold.

The idea for my sixth manuscript, which would end up becoming my debut novel, Beth Is Dead, came from an exercise suggested by a fellow author. I asked her how to find a story that I really wanted—needed—to write, and she told me to create a love/hate list.

Like a pro/con list, you divide the page in two. On the left, you make a list of all the things you love: books, movies, tropes, themes, life experiences. And on the right, you do the same for the things you hate. Then you take two things from your love list to create a story that will conquer the things on your hate list.

I made a long list, and in the end two things jumped out at me: Little Women and mystery-thrillers. I never would have connected those two concepts without my love/hate list, but within minutes, I imagined a retelling of Little Women as a mystery-thriller that would conquer so many of the things on my hate list, like loneliness, stereotypes, and losing people too soon.

At first, this idea felt really different for me. Partly because I’d never written a mystery-thriller—and partly because I was truly enjoying it. While most of my unpublished manuscripts felt like something I was chasing, this one felt like it was coming out of me. 

I’m not going to say it was easy. Beth Is Dead contains four perspectives, two timelines, and so many red herrings that I needed a spreadsheet to keep it all straight. At times, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it all together, but I kept coming back to it, because I loved the story, and I had learned to appreciate the process.

At the beginning of my writing journey, I joined a local writer’s workshop. The group meets every Wednesday rain or shine for read-and-critique, and most importantly, fellowship. I’ve been a member for 11 years—through all the ups and downs of my path to publication. I wouldn’t be an author without this group. Partly due to the invaluable mentorship and feedback. But largely due to the community itself.

When I quit writing for those measly three months, I missed my friends. I missed talking about books and stories with people who love them as much as me.

So, yeah—I quit. But I did it with a parachute. And if you’re going to quit, you should grab one too. Don’t quit until you know how it feels to finish a manuscript (or two, or three, or five). Don’t quit until you’ve found a writing community that will show you the ropes and pick you up when you’re down. Don’t quit until you’ve truly acquired the skills and knowledge to become a published author. Then when you leap out of the plane, you’re not really giving up. You’re assessing the most essential piece of being an author—your own desire to do it.

I’m lucky. Beth Is Dead resulted in a six-house auction that produced a two-book deal from Simon & Schuster. It gave me the ability to leave my corporate job—at least, for now—bringing me to book fairs and festivals where I get to show up as an author.

But I don’t have any guarantees. I still have the pressure to deliver another book, sell another book, and when the pressure closes in—I’m grateful for that time I quit. It reminds me that I write because I love it. Because I couldn’t stay away.

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