Every once in a while, people ask how my current writing projects are going.
When that happens, I’m likely to give one of five possible responses.
Response 1: The Non-Answer
“It’s fine.”
Then I change the subject.
Interpretation: It’s not fine.
Response 2: The Gloss-Over
“Oh, you know; I have some stuff in the works.”
Then I change the subject.
Interpretation: Everything really is fine, but I’m not ready to talk openly about anything yet.
Response 3: A Fact or Two
“Things are going okay. I’ve been writing about [insert topic] lately.”
Interpretation: Things are going very well. The end is in sight. You’ll likely hear publication news on this one at some point, though that part’s largely beyond my control.
Alternate Interpretation: I’ve sunk so much of my life into this project that the law of diminishing returns no longer registers with me. I will finish this project and bring it to publication or perish in the attempt.
Response 4: The Cliff’s Notes
“It’s going well. I have a manuscript in the works about [insert topic]. Here’s a sneak peek of the plot or the main idea. My agent’s shopping the proposal. We’ll see what happens.”
Interpretation: This is probably the best thing I’ve ever written, and I’m feeling very confident.
Alternate Interpretation: I just had a particularly good writing session. I don’t know how long this wave of confidence will last, so let’s both just enjoy the ride.
Response 5: The Meltdown
“I don’t know why I even bother with all this, honestly. Other people don’t get up at 5:00am to try to add a thousand words to a trainwreck of a draft before work. Other people don’t carry their laptops around on vacations and sneak away to work in cafes when they could be napping on the beach reading. And they seem perfectly happy and fulfilled. That could be me. Besides which, I don’t know why anyone would want to read anything I’d have to say, since I can’t write and barely know words or really anything about anything. My draft doesn’t make sense. There’s not a unifying theme in sight. The entire thing is riddled with fallacies and inconsistencies. Probably the wisest thing to do at this point would be to delete my whole computer.”
Interpretation: I need a snack, a nap, and to go outside and touch grass. But don’t worry. I’ll be back at it tomorrow.
Lately, I’ve been toggling back and forth between Responses 3 and 5 (although unless you’re in my inner circle, my writers’ group, or a family member, you’re unlikely to witness me in full Meltdown Mode).
While I really am excited about the project(s) I’m working on, and I do believe fiercely in my work, I still find it hard to talk about most days.
And I’m not alone.
Most writers I know share similar struggles communicating about their work in process, which feels equally precious to their heart and maddeningly impossible to talk about rationally.
As I told a friend once, if I could explain it in a sentence or two, I wouldn’t have written a whole book. So please don’t make me talk about it.
You may be wondering, considering all the potential drama around the question, should you even ask a writer how things are going?
Yes.
Yes, you absolutely should.
It’s such an honor to be asked, actually. I find the question affirming, even when I bobble my answer, blurt a joke, change the subject, and scurry out to the parking lot, praying I find an open manhole cover to fall into along the way.
This question is an act of care and an expression of genuine interest.
I see that. Value it, even.
My work matters, and I love that you care enough to ask.
Even when I can’t really answer.
Keep asking.
Maybe with enough practice, I’ll figure it out.
100% all five responses, plus that mannequin's expression is gold.
Before I got to the ending, I was thinking about my lack of practice with talking about my writing and answering questions... because I so rarely get asked that when I do, I think I just stand there and blink bigly.