On Taking it Slow

It’s Been a While

To state the obvious, it’s been quite a while since my last blog post. Rest assured; it’s not because I haven’t been writing. In fact, in June, I had the opportunity to be a guest blogger for Atticus Review. And this month, I had a new flash story published in trampset.

I have, however, felt less productive than usual. The main reason, perhaps, is this: I’ve been taking it slow. Not necessarily on purpose, but intentionally just the same. Out of necessity. While it’s nice to feel “productive,” it’s also important to recognize productivity for what it is: a myth of self-worth. So many people tend to measure self-worth by productivity, but it’s not a very accurate measure because it ignores way too many variables. [At the beginning of the pandemic, I wrote in more depth about this productivity fallacy.]

Sometimes it’s more important to take it slow, to be purposely “unproductive.”

Grief and Loss

In June, I had to say good-bye to my beloved dog, Rosie. She was 17 and lived a very good life, having been in my care since she was 7 weeks old. Before her passing, there were several months of intense caregiving. She had been diagnosed with a possible brain tumor in January, and instead of expensive tests to confirm or refute a diagnosis, I chose to keep her as comfortable (with medication) and safe as possible, regularly monitoring her quality of life.

My other dog, Daisy, died in 2017, so for the first time in nearly 20 years, I am without a dog in my life. It is a grief that many don’t understand. When my mom died in December 2020, Rosie provided me with endless comfort; now, without Rosie, my grief has become at times unbearable. There have been other losses this summer, too—a relative, a family friend, and, quite simply, a loss of peace and normalcy. Loss doesn’t just occur when someone dies, and grief isn’t something you ever “heal” from. It is a change that one needs to learn to live with, and this can take a lot of time. There are no time frames or limits on grief.

For all of these reasons, I have spent time caring for myself this summer—going easy on myself, taking it slow. Posting on my blog became a low priority. In late June, I went to Lake Michigan for a few days, my first break since 2019. I took my journal, but I didn’t take my computer. I spent a lot of time reading, walking, and just looking. I watched the sun set over the lake.

And I began to see this idea of “slowness” as a metaphor for writing.

Writing Slowly, Slowly Writing

A little over a year ago, I began writing a novella-in-flash (a novella made up of individual flash stories). At first, I thought I’d have it done by December, and then January. And then July. And yet. Here I am a year later. And I have to laugh. I’ve been writing and editing long enough to know that writing almost always takes longer than one expects it to. I’ve made quite a bit of progress to be sure, but realistically, it will probably be another year before my novella is complete.

I could have rushed it, but I made the intentional decision not to. I want it to be something I am proud of. Some writers can work fast, but I am not typically one of those writers. In flash fiction, especially, there are times when I will spend an hour fretting over one sentence or paragraph. Delete, undo, delete, undo. This is simply the way I work. I am a careful and intentional writer.

Editing (which I consider very much a part of writing) is the same. Writing is a slow process, requiring critical thought and hours and hours of revision. As an editor, I like to take my time (both with my own work and with the work of others); if you hire me as an editor, you can expect careful contemplation of your manuscript and a thorough and detailed edit. But don’t expect it overnight.

The Rhythm of Waiting

Writing and editing both require focus. Things like grief and loss can disrupt this focus, slow this process. I used to be the type of person who couldn’t wait for anything. And I still find waiting hard, but I’ve learned that waiting is really at the core of writing.

You send a story or manuscript to an editor or proofreader; you wait.

You submit a story or manuscript to a journal, editor, or publisher; you wait.

A story is accepted; you wait for it to be published.

I’ve started to get into a rhythm of waiting, savoring the slowness. And I’ve started to embrace it. After my mom died, I was so busy being busy that I never had a chance to adequately grieve or even start to process my grief. I didn’t know how to slow down, and no one gave me permission to: I had a senior dog to take care of, a business to manage. There was so much to do. I went from caregiving for my mom to caregiving for my dog, both of whom followed an eerily similar trajectory of decline.

I’m now learning to be purposely slow, even though it goes against the way I was raised, against my very nature–all of those voices of responsibility constantly telling me what I “should” be doing. But the reality is that life happens quickly, so if there are moments that we can pause, if that’s even possible, let’s do it. Let’s take it slow.

Allow yourself time. Allow yourself slowness.