Huzzah! We made it through the dark days of winter. Happy vernal equinox. News from the studio is that I haven’t been in it much lately, but for good reason. I spent the past three weeks in Gibsons, BC, on the Sunshine Coast, dog-sitting and forging ahead on a draft of my next novel (tentatively titled The Domestics) while waiting to get “notes” back for my forthcoming book, Dog Days of Planet Earth, due for a fall 2026 publication.
Working on a new novel while waiting to edit the forthcoming one? Sounds messy, doesn’t it?
For those not in the know, getting a book from the signed contract stage to bookstore shelves involves many steps. Included in that process are significant gap-times when the book is with the editor, and there’s nothing to be done on it but wait to hear about future edits. Tempting as it is to do nothing while waiting, a working writer writes. If I waited until Dog Days was entirely edited and ready for publication to start something new, not only would I lose valuable writing time, but I would also lose valuable writing muscles. Whatever writing skills I have would slowly atrophy. To use a sports analogy, an athlete trains in-between competitions to ensure peak performance. Similarly a writer writes between publications. So, in the ten-week window between sending the revised manuscript of Dog Days to my editor, I motored along on The Domestics.
I had big plans for my dog-sitting / writing retreat in Gibsons.
Three weeks on my own to write? I was both excited and afraid, motivated and anxious. Often, I set goals that I don’t meet and then beat myself up about being undisciplined, but I’m elated to report I wrote 20,000 words on my draft. In fact, I enjoyed the best spell of writing I’ve had in a long time, and when I’m writing well I feel great.
What made this retreat productive? Was it because I was alone, with only a dog to schedule me? Was it because I was inspired by the incredible beauty of Howe Sound outside my window? Was it the different visual distractions of water and mountains and ducks and herons and eagles and seals? Was it noticing the levels at which the boats in the marina sat at high and low tides, or seeing handsome tugboat man tugboating vehicles and equipment to Keats Island? Or could it be that I’ve finally figured out how to be a writer?
I wish I could say it was the latter and that I’ve finally figured out how to live this writing life because that would mean a happily-ever-after book-writing future. In truth, the conditions to write in Gibsons were perfect. The gap-time added urgency. Knowing I’ll have to put The Domestics away when my edits for Dog Days hit my inbox motivated me enough that I was able to focus, because the more of a draft I have to return to, with characters I want to spend time with, the more likely it is that I’ll finish what I’ve started.
I also better understand now the superstitions I have around my writing. Break a good run, and it might not return. Change a schedule that works, and the words might disappear. I’ve learned to accept that the good writing times will end just as the bad writing times will too. It feels like a great gift when the words come easily. It is a great gift. Like the weather, would I appreciate the good writing days if they weren’t interspersed with stormy days? So while I already believe I’ll never enjoy as good of a writing spell again, I’m open to the possibility that I’m wrong.
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