Some weeks, the words don’t come. Not because the stories dry up, but because the work of writing takes different forms.
This week I’ve been deep in an intensive editing project, the kind where spoken storytelling is being shaped into polished narrative. It’s careful, absorbing work. The sort that requires you to hold an entire book in your head while you quietly move sentences, clarify meaning, strengthen structure, and help the author’s voice come through cleanly.
It’s good work. Important work. Professional work. But it’s not the same as facing a blank page with one of my own stories waiting to be told.
Writers talk a lot about discipline and daily word counts, and those matter. But there’s another reality we don’t always acknowledge: writing lives inside a larger ecosystem of obligations; editing, publishing, planning, administration, and the thousand small tasks that keep a creative life functional. Some weeks, the scale tips.
The trick isn’t to avoid those weeks. It’s to understand that they’re part of the job. The goal isn’t perfection or streaks that never break. The goal is continuity. Staying in the world of words even when the role shifts.
Because here’s the quiet truth: shaping someone else’s manuscript still keeps your instincts sharp. You see structure at work. You recognize weak transitions. You notice where clarity lives and where it falters. All of that feeds back into your own writing, even if you didn’t produce a single new scene that day.
The stories are still there. They wait. And when the calendar finally opens again, you come back to the page with stronger tools than you had before.
–Mark