The first signs of winter’s end are starting to appear, at least here in Illinois, which means that the time is ripe to reflect on the season of slowness. Personally, I spent 1 and a half weeks of January sick with a cold and 2 weeks of February without my car (luckily, I work remotely), so I’ve been significantly slowing down this winter against my will and usual goal-oriented nature.
the rigidity of the hustle mindset
As a writer, there is a slightly different (yet similar) kind of hustle than the standard late-stage capitalist pressure to be productive, in my opinion. For writers, there is always something more to do: a poem to write or revise or read or workshop or submit to publications. These urges to do more can be motivating in moderation, but when they get to an unhealthy level, things can look obsessive. I know many writers who think about submitting stories or poems as a numbers game: the more you submit, the higher likelihood you’ll get an acceptance. And so they go about tracking every submission and following a strict schedule for when and where what piece(s) to submit.
But when we start to quantify more and more elements of our practice, from a target number of books read each month to time spent writing each morning, we lose some of the magic. There’s something to be said about trusting yourself and following your natural interests at any given time. Maybe you really don’t feel like revising that one poem that gives you a headache, but you’re in the mood to attend an open mic instead. All I’m saying is, having flexibility and grace instead of rigid standards of perfectionism can make you a better, more fulfilled writer.
slowing down and having trust
Slowing down is not always easy or natural, and it definitely isn’t for me. In 2025, I hit a new record: 15 poems published, more than any year before. But a lot of those poems were submitted from a feeling of necessity. In between stretches of publications, I sometimes feel the creeping sensation that I’m not a good enough writer, and I need more publications to prove I’m successful. This year, I’m letting myself sit with the discomfort rather than running away to apply to hundreds of calls for submissions or forcing myself to write when I really, truly don’t feel like it.
Again, it comes back to trust, specifically trusting that everything will work out how it’s meant to. Of course, setting goals and being focused are important in having direction and progressing, but the relentless hustle isn’t always worth it. Especially for writers who are already deeply committed to the craft. Getting caught up in the idea of success can take away from the journey and from having gratitude for the growth, learning, and lessons intertwined with the evolution and maturity of a practice.
being honest and building confidence
So, what do we do if we find ourselves in this particular trap? It’s imperative to be honest about why we have certain goals or want a certain outcome. If we are grinding away because we feel that we need to keep up, maybe our time and energy are better spent working to understand where that feeling is coming from and reframing our relationship to success. There is nothing that can be said–and no amount of awards or achievements–to convince someone who relies heavily on external validation, in any facet of life, that they are good enough or worthy or successful without made-up metrics or milestones. That kind of confidence and knowing has to be created and shaped, slowly over time, from themselves.
For me, I am choosing to let go of the strategies I utilized to get 15 poems published, because my goals this year are to publish quality poems in higher-ranked, higher-awarded, career-building journals (strategic publications > a certain number), to attend more (or create more) local poetry and writing events, and expand creatively + experiment more with my poems.
I hope you will reconsider what success means to you, reflect on your goals and where they are rooted, and embrace slowness when you feel inclined to have an unhurried pace in your practice. Having a sustainable, meaningful experience as a writer will inevitably bring ebbs and flows to your practice. And just like winter, there will be seasons of slowness. Trust that the slow season won’t be forever, and that the season of renewed creative energy, or spring, will be right around the corner sooner than you know.
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