2 Reminders for a Productive Summer of Writing

In early May, I began writing this essay on the topic of how best to approach research and writing during the summer months. My early draft advised readers on the importance of creating a detailed plan for summer writing, the wisdom and magic of daily writing, and strengthening the “no muscle” in order to protect those precious, hard-won opportunities for research and writing.

It is now late June, and I have to laugh as I consider the irony of my emphasis on planning. No sooner had I crafted my own plan than my dear mother-in-law, who often looks after our 15-month-old son, broke her wrist, and our babysitter went on vacation. Time for research and writing had to wait. What’s more, I knew I needed to rewrite this essay.

Is it necessary to plan focused time for research and writing? Of course it is. Do we benefit from taking time and energy to think through the many details of each and every task that will need to be accomplished in order to complete a piece of writing? Certainly. Does daily writing produce an undeniable momentum that results in unparalleled productivity every time? In my experience, the answer is a resounding yes.

But the past few weeks have reminded me of two other lessons we don’t often hear: first, that we can count on curveballs more than we can depend on plans, and second, that joy, not just a sense of duty or obligation, serves us well and keeps us writing.

I began to reflect seriously on joy’s relationship to writing a year ago when my husband and I were counting our little Lewis’s age in weeks. The weather had shifted in Ohio, and we were enjoying as many daily walks as we could, patio time and even some moments floating in the neighborhood infant pool. I was as joyful as I was tired. Lewis, like all infants, needed to learn everything, and I was his teacher and caregiver.

This was amazing to experience—and stressful, too. “Did we do enough tummy time?” I wondered. “Did I even brush my teeth yet today?” I asked myself. “How many ounces has he taken today?” I constantly inquired. Time moved both slowly, moment by moment, and simultaneously rushed by in a blur. Nighttime wake-ups were just as all-consuming as I had imagined them to be. Still, as friends and family had assured us, the bond and love we felt helped us cope and even enjoy this transformative phase as best we could, amid the inevitable questions, struggles, self-doubt and sense of urgency.

What did having a new baby teach me about writing then, and what does it continue to remind me of now? Above all, it has taught me to lean into the joy of solo writing time. Even as I write this essay, I experience this as a luxury. I have left the house, I am enjoying a gorgeous cup of Bancha tea, and I feel confident and grateful that Lewis is in good hands with a second babysitter I found and trained.

I have time on my own, time to reflect, and I am reminded of something I observed during my undergraduate years. My professors, it seemed to me, had the great and rare privilege of quiet time to ponder and create. Extraordinarily, this was built into their work life! As a student pursuing a dual degree in accounting and French literature, I was considering a myriad of career possibilities. The professorial life of the mind and its pace and tone—especially the emphasis on reflection—were deeply alluring.

Years later, here I am, noticing the ways that the quiet and solitude and focus of this kind of work lend balance to the many hours and days I spend with Lewis. These kinds of work complement one another. In fact, my publication productivity has not suffered at all since Lewis’s birth. That is not because I have frantically pushed through articles and essays; it is not due to rigid schedules and deadlines. Rather, it is because writing has become a lifeline, a joyful escape, an oasis of sorts. Writing allows me to flex those intellectual and creative muscles I so enjoy using.

And so, I share this simple truth with you, whether you are balancing work with caregiving or not: when we write with pleasure—or perhaps more accurately, when we write for pleasure—we write more, and we write better. Just as it is important to plan in order to produce, so, too, is it important to take active joy in the process.

I do not mean to paint an overly idealized portrait of what it means to balance the demands of one’s professional life with those of other parts of life. I have spent much time and energy during the past few weeks alone seeking backup care, cooking and cleaning and working during naps, doing my reading on Audible during walks with Lewis, and so on. And still, or precisely because I must emphasize efficiency and multitasking, the opportunity to focus—even if only for five or 15 minutes at a time—is a pleasure, a joy, a luxury, now more than ever before.

The two lessons I am gleaning, then, are connected. Write for pleasure, yes. But, in addition, plan for imperfection. Will something go wrong? It will. When it does, know that you have planned for it, that such is life and that at some point you will be able to quiet down, reflect and focus once again. Will you feel frustration? You will. And when you do, feel it, acknowledge it and then let it go. Know that the moment of flow is in your future. You will find it again, just as it will find you.

I started one month or so ago writing about time-tracking, daily writing and the importance of creating a detailed plan to guide research and writing during the summer. And here I am, now, realizing that though the practices of creating a plan, tracking one’s time and writing daily do serve us well, they are insufficient. A plan is just an idea, a guide; it is prescriptive, not descriptive. It will inevitably be thwarted.

And here I am, reminding myself and you, too, that although duty and obligation can motivate us to write, nothing is quite as powerful as joy to keep us working and moving forward, even as we trip over a block or bottle or toy. So enjoy the summer and all its pleasures; relish in your reading, research and writing; and expect problems to arise. Know that they will pass, and choose joy whenever you can.