I’m working on my next book in 20-minute increments. I don’t find the time every day, and when I do, I might only be able to write a paragraph. Of course, the next day, I might have to tweak, cut, or rewrite that paragraph. Glaciers move faster than me, and while I do sometimes worry about my progress, I also kind of love it.
Getting a full-time job came with a license to reclaim my creative freedom. Every day when I write exactly what I want the way I want, I’m redeeming that license. No more compromises. The work is the work, and it takes as long as it takes. If I need five years to write a book one paragraph at a time, so be it.
A snail’s pace is still a pace—and I’m done rushing.