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I’ve been in a rut recently. Yes, I’ve been struggling with this space-opera project, but that’s only part of it. I’ve lacked motivation. I’ve been far too easily distracted. While I’ve made progress with both the main Unity book and the first Chronicles of Seraph story, that progress has felt far too slow.
I used to be more productive. Back when I grew serious about writing, I was able to release about three books a year. But since releasing the final ShadowTech book last year, I haven’t put out any new fiction. I’ve had the Tales of Dominions Kickstarter, but that was a collection of previously written stories.
I don’t feel good about this. I’m letting my readers down. I’m letting myself down.
So, why the lack of motivation? In large part, this is down to the day-job. It’s been growing increasingly demoralising over the last few years (things started going downhill in 2020, and there’s been no sign of an improvement). While I try to compartmentalise things—that’s work, so it shouldn’t affect my writing or my life outside work—everything’s connected.
But things are about to change. I now have a new job, starting next week. It’s longer hours—but back when I produced three books a year I was working similar hours. Maybe the lethargy has been compounded by too much free time, too many opportunities for distraction. So I’m going into this new job with a more focused mind-set. When I open my laptop for writing, that’s what I’ll do. I’m also investigating ways I can use my phone more effectively, so I can make better use of breaks at work and odd moments when I’m not at the laptop. Yes, I’ll still get distracted, but if I go in with a more positive attitude, and if I’m conscious of possible distractions, I’ll be in a better position to head them off.
Of course, there’s going to be a period of adjustment. I’ll be working different shifts, so I’ll have to let my body grow accustomed to a new routine. And this new job gives me free weekends, so more opportunities for important family time.
With one change, it’s a good time to introduce another. As I mentioned before, I haven’t been as productive as I’d like. I’m spending more time editing and less time writing (first-drafting)—and while I enjoy editing it’s that earlier stage that I love.
So I need to produce more stories. And I need to get back to first-draft writing.
I have a plan.
I’m going to write a serial.
Okay, hold on a moment. I’m struggling to get through those space-opera books, and I’m about to start a new job that will leave me with less free time—and I’m going to add another project?
It isn’t as stupid as it sounds. This serial is connected to the whole Unity universe. The story will focus on one of the main characters from the central Unity story. Writing this serial will help me understand both that character and their setting.
And I’ll be releasing a chapter each week, somewhere between one and two thousand words (so about fifteen minutes reading time?). I can write that many words in an hour. Another couple of hours for editing, and things don’t look too unrealistic.
Oh, and it’s called Grim Khonsu. It’s a blend of sci-fi and detective noir. I’ve wanted to produce something in this vein for a while now, writing a first draft of a novel a few years ago. Some of the ideas from that have ended up in the initial work on Unity, and others I’m using in this serial.
Of course, this will involve a different way of working. I’m a plotter. I like to know where my stories are going before I start writing. But with a serial, I’ll be going one chapter at a time. Okay, I’ll have a few in the bag, and I have ideas about the direction of the story, along with the larger overview. But I don’t know the details yet. I’ll only discover them as I write.
Will this work? I don’t know. I’d like to think I’m sufficiently confident in my writing to pull it off, but I might write myself into all kinds of corners. And I’m committing myself to a new chapter each week. What if I’m ill? What if the story grows too cumbersome and I need to have a major rethink?
Problems to deal with if and when they arise. This is an experiment. It will allow me to get back to the thrill of first-drafting. It will allow me to put more fiction out there, giving readers something they’ll (hopefully) enjoy. And, because of its connection with my grand space-opera concept, it will enrich that story too.
It could all go horribly wrong, of course. And if it does, I’ll treat it as a learning experience.
But I’m quietly confident. Things are changing. I’ll be developing new routines, ones that should make me more productive, less prone to lethargy and distraction.
And I’m doing this in public. That’s scary. But it gives me accountability. I don’t like going back on my word, so now that I’ve committed to this, I have to keep it up. You’ll hold me to that, right? And as this story takes shape, as I add a new chapter each week, I’d appreciate any kind of feedback.
A change. An opportunity to start a new experiment. I hope you’ll come along for the ride.
More to follow…
This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this space-opera project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.
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Over the last few years, as I’ve worked on improving both my climbing and my writing, I’ve seen many similarities between these activities. I’ve detailed my thoughts on this over the last few posts, but here’s a quick recap.
To bring this short series to a close, I want to consider a question. Why? Why do I climb, and why do I write?
The knee-jerk response is to say that I enjoy both activities. Fair enough, but I enjoy listening to music, and I don’t put in anywhere near the same effort in this as I do in climbing and writing.
So let’s go deeper. I became serious about my writing ten years ago. Why then? What caused this mind-shift?
At that time, I was struggling at work. I won’t go into details, but I felt like I had no control over the situation, and no clear way forward.
This was when I started writing more regularly. I had no big plan. I started from the kernel of an idea, and wrote to see what would happen.
My writing was something I could control. True, I didn’t know where the story was going. But there wasn’t anyone else dictating what happened. Ultimately, I was the one who decided.
Some years later I had a short novella included in an anthology called The Power Of Words, and I realised that this power lies not only in the words themselves but also in bringing them forth. Writing gave me something I lacked in my job. It gave me a voice, even if this writing was, at that point, only for myself.
I’d written before, but it reached somewhere deeper in me now. I continued, eventually finishing and then independently publishing novels.
And realised that writing was only a part of what being a writer was all about. Now that I had these books I needed to market them.
Okay, I didn’t need to. I could have put them up on Amazon and left everything to chance. But I thought it would be good to get something back from them—readers, and also money. At least enough to pay for the production.
So I set about learning marketing. I learnt about newsletters and websites, about reader magnets. I learnt about advertising and reader funnels, social media and reader tropes. And a whole lot more. I tried different tactics to help readers find and buy my books.
And while I have sold a few copies, and have had some positive reviews and ratings, none of my books have yet earned out. So far, this writing and publishing thing has cost more than it’s brought in.
Why? I don’t know. I try things. I follow what others have done. I try to analyse where things are failing.
And one thing I’ve come to realise is that there are no guarantees. I could do exactly the same as some successful writer, and I’d have wildly different results.
Because it’s not something I can control. Yes, I can tweak ads, or focus on targeting. Yes, I can write posts and newsletters. But when it comes to potential readers connecting with the ads, posts or newsletters, there is too much outside my control. There are a million other distractions. And if a potential reader does pay attention, are they in the frame of mind to buy, or to download a free book? If they download a book, will it become just another file, pushed down the TBR list in favour of a new, more exciting-sounding title?
I can control my input into marketing, but I can’t control what happens after that. I’m at the whims of reader attention, of various store and social media site algorithms.
Which could explain why I grew more serious about climbing over the last few years. With a vague despondency over the lack of marketing success, I needed a feeling of control. While the writing served this to a point, it was always tinged with the marketing side of things.
In most sports, you compete against others, either individually or as part of a team. There is a winner, and by default there are losers (those who didn’t win). But climbing is different. Yes, there are climbing competitions (even at the level I climb), but the competition is far more internal.
I think I’ve mentioned the friendly, co-operative atmosphere I’ve found at climbing walls. Whatever level you climb at, there will be someone to offer advice and encouragement. As a regular at the walls I climb at, I’m often there with other regulars, and we often work on a problem together. We’ll bounce ideas around, each trying something slightly different.
Usually, someone will reach the top first. But that doesn’t mean they’ve ‘won’, because the rest of us might reach the top using a slightly different set of moves. And even if you don’t reach the top, you’ve made progress.
And that progress isn’t down to others. Okay, there’s the advice. And the encouragement. But you take that in, and you let that feed into your efforts. Then, when the set of moves works out and you reach the top, you can justifiably say that you’ve done it.
And if you don’t? It’s not a case of someone else beating you to it, or someone else interfering (unless they do, in which case they’ll get thrown out). No, it’s simply that you’re not quite ready to solve that particular problem. Keep working at it, and maybe you will.
It comes back to control. Top out or not, it’s down to me. My climbing is under my control.
I’ve come to realise that having at least one activity like this—something controllable—is vitally important. We exist in societies, where we have to fit in with others. Our actions are so often dictated or influenced by others, even people we don’t know. We can control how we respond to situations (to an extent), but we can’t control those situations. So having some time each week when we are autonomous can give a respite from this.
It’s what I get from both writing (storytelling) and climbing. I get to be in control of things for a while. Yes, I get enjoyment from both activities (and there’s physical wellbeing connected with climbing, barring any injuries), but they both help remind me that effort can bring rewards. It might not feel like that at times—for instance, when another set of ads falls flat. But that’s because I haven’t found the right approach yet. It’s like the ‘everyone climbs differently’ thing—what works for one person won’t necessarily work for me.
So I have to keep on. To climb higher grades I need to work on technique and push myself. To write better books I need to work on craft. To sell more books I need to persevere with marketing, taking in more advice and lessons and trying different approaches until I find what works for me.
And maybe that is another lesson from climbing I can bring to writing. Everything else can be seen as tactics, or ways to improve, but behind it all is perseverance.
The final, and most important, lesson—don’t give up.
And that’s it for what climbing has taught me about writing. This series originally appeared on my free Substack—click here to subscribe. If you’re interested in the previous posts, after a short introduction I go into details on progress, my thoughts on practice, how individuality plays a role, and how knowing and doing are not the same.
TW Iain 