Death Valley

I’ve got no fewer than five “books” collecting dust on my virtual shelf. Each of them began as stories I couldn’t shake loose, ideas that grabbed hold of me and refused to let go. Stories that demanded to be told.

For each one, I spent hours mapping out every twist and turn, carefully crafting protagonists and antagonists with a perfect balance of flaws and virtues. And I didn’t stop there—I pushed out three, sometimes five chapters, setting the stage for something incredible.

You’d think I’m on my way, right? The words are flowing, the ideas are alive.

But all five of those projects are now sitting in what I call "Death Valley."

(There’s a lesson in this, one I’m still wrestling with. Consider this a “do as I say, not as I do” moment.)

Somewhere around chapter four or six, the momentum starts to slip. Usually, it’s because I’ve had a revelation—often in the middle of a yoga session, because apparently, I’m great at conjuring plot twists in downward facing dog . If only these breakthroughs resulted in a sturdier tree pose...

It’s during those moments that I think:
The sidekick has secretly been a time-traveling ferret this whole time.

Turns out the love triangle is actually a love pentagon.

It’s not set in medieval times—it’s just a really immersive Renaissance Fair.

Wait, is this a dream? Nope, it’s a dream within a flashback.

She’s not the hero—she’s the villain!

You get the idea. Whatever the epiphany, it’s big enough to rewrite everything I’ve written so far. The whole plot needs an overhaul. The characters need recalibration. Foreshadowing needs to be layered in.

So, instead of pressing on, I hit pause on the story. I backtrack. I start editing.

Welcome to Death Valley.

Because here’s the truth: editing in the middle of drafting is the death knell for progress. For me, it’s the surest way to extinguish whatever spark brought the story to life in the first place.

If I could just push through—ignore that itch to go back and fix everything—I might actually finish. A first draft isn’t really a draft without a beginning, middle, and end. No matter how messy, no matter how riddled with plot holes, you have to finish it.

That’s the key. Write forward. Don’t look back. Make notes for future revisions, but commit to letting them wait.

This is what separates writers from aspiring writers. It’s not talent. It’s discipline.

You could be the most brilliant wordsmith alive, but if you can’t drag yourself out of Death Valley, none of that brilliance will ever see the light of day.