I’m starting a new book, the first one I’ve written for myself (not including collaborations and ghostwrites) in over nine years. And I am doing the one thing I tell clients not to: I keep restarting the project.
So this message is mostly for me.
Feel free to disregard it if it doesn’t apply to you, if you never find yourself beginning an audacious project, freaking out somewhere in the first quarter or third of it, scrapping the plan, and going back to the drawing board.
If you don’t wrestle with self-doubt when it comes to your capacity to handle hard things; if you never get distracted by the latest idea that came to you in the shower; if you have no “shiny object syndrome” with which to contend—by all means, stop reading this and go back to your productive existence.
But for the rest of us who are a part of the human race, this is a reminder of what it takes to finish. Call it a checklist if you want, but the following is a list of principles I forget when I am in the middle of a project that requires months of work, or more, and hundreds of hours of concentration.
Remember that new things are always exciting at the beginning, but finishing is fun too. And even the biggest of ideas eventually becomes a grind, so follow through anyway—if for no other reason than it gives you space to eventually start the next thing.
The point of any big project is not just the final output but what you learn and who you become in the process. Research is underrated—exploring a subject you aren’t yet a master of is like going back to school. It can be arduous at times, but you always end up smarter and more capable in the end.
There are few greater thrills than the thrill of accomplishment. Doing hard things is rewarding: it creates confidence, meaning, and joy. No, it’s not always a blast when you’re doing it, but if you do finish, you are almost always proud of yourself for having stuck with it. And if, at the end of the journey, you are left with something you can hold in your hands that reminds you of your own resilience, well, even better.
Never underestimate the necessity of a shitty start. Get to that first draft as quickly as possible. Put whatever you can down, without overthinking it, so that you can begin the necessary work of revision. All good work is iterative; all good writing is rewriting.
When in doubt, put in the time. Show up, do the work, and get back at it tomorrow. Don’t measure yourself based on what’s left. Look at what you’ve done, and keep going. It’ll get done the way everything you do gets done: one step at a time.
Don’t waste little moments (sometimes, that’s all you get). Whether it’s an early morning or late night or just thirty minutes between calls, if you’ve got some free time, put it toward the project. Those add up, and they remind you that this thing is important, that it deserves at least a little bit of work, and thought, every single day.
Thinking about the work is the work. At least, part of it. Going for walks, reading books, talking to others about what you’re working on counts. All of it is part and parcel of making the thing. Don’t think yourself lazy because you sat on the porch for an afternoon thinking. Don’t beat yourself up for taking a hike and coming back clear after that. Just make sure that’s not all you do.
Write what wants to be written. Let go of what you think this thing should be. Get into a groove, trust the process, and let the work emerge. Don’t hold on too tightly to the steering wheel; keep a loose grip and expect to be surprised.
Stick to the plan. Yes, it’s fun to do something “nobody has ever done before,” but that’s also the easiest way to be ignored. All plans are guesses, of course, but without them we wouldn’t finish anything. Meet your deadlines, keep your commitments, and find a way to be creative within that structure that’s been set. When in doubt, practice the 80/20 rule: eighty percent of what you do should follow the outline; the other twenty can be improvised.
Art is never finished. Don’t expect some ticker-tape parade at the end of this race. You will cross the finish line, tired, insecure, and a little bedraggled. That’s how you know you tried. Of course it could have been different. It could have been a million things. But it wasn’t. It became this thing. And that is all you need to know. You finished; congratulations, now move on and start again. And maybe, next time, don’t wait nine years.
Time to get back to it. If this was something you needed to hear, feel free to drop a comment below about the project you are working on. I’d love to hear more. And for those curious about the book, here’s the official announcement that just went out:
I am, of course, a little nervous but also excited to be working on my own stuff again. I know many of you have been asking about this for years now—thanks for continuing to bring it up. It’s been too long. I appreciate you not giving up on me.
More to come soon,
Jeff
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