Returning to the Page: Writing My Novel After a Long Pause

For a while, my novel sat quietly on the back burner.

Not because I stopped caring about it, but because life became full in ways that demanded my attention elsewhere. Family responsibilities (like juggling second and third grade school schedules, a toddler's demands, and a teen's emotional needs) grew heavier. Work seasons intensified. Illness slowed everything down (thanks again, winter). And the cold arrived with its familiar weight, bringing darker mornings, shorter days, and that low hum of fatigue that can make even the things we love feel distant.

If you’ve ever stepped away from a creative project and wondered how you let so much time pass, I know the feeling. The longer the break, the louder the pressure becomes. You start telling yourself you need a big stretch of uninterrupted time to return, or that you should wait until you feel “ready” again. And before you know it, the story feels farther away than ever.

Lately, though, I’ve been easing my way back in—not with grand expectations, but with gentleness and intention.

Choosing Consistency Over the Intangible

When I was younger, I set goals that I thought were realistic: finish my novel by this age, get into this shape, paint this many portraits to master the medium. But these goals became the proverbial carrot that's always dangling but never attainable because they were missing an essential ingredient: tangibility. By saying "this age," "this shape," "this many portraits," I didn't define the map for getting to those end goals; instead, these were ethereal sketches.

In the midst of busyness, I have a tendency to slip back into this amorphous longing. But the best remedy I've found is making daily habits instead of intangible goals.

Right now, my goal isn’t to make dramatic progress on my novel. It’s simply to show up.

Most days, this looks like opening my manuscript during my lunch break and rereading a scene. Other days it means jotting down a paragraph, revising a single page, or leaving myself notes for what comes next. The time is small. The effort is imperfect. But it’s consistent, and in this busy season, that's what matters most.

I’m learning (again) that momentum doesn’t come from waiting for the perfect window of time. It comes from small, repeated acts of attention. When I open my Word doc regularly, even briefly, the story stays alive in my mind. The characters don’t disappear. The thread doesn’t break. Consistency, especially during busy or heavy seasons, is a quiet kind of faithfulness.

If You’re Trying to Be Intentional With Your Own Novel

If you’re returning to your own work—or trying to stay present with it when life feels crowded—here are a few gentle, practical ways to approach your writing each day:

1. Redefine what “progress” looks like. Progress doesn’t have to mean writing thousands of words. It can mean rereading yesterday’s work, thinking through a plot point, or answering a hard question about your story. Small steps still count.

2. Attach writing to an existing rhythm. Instead of waiting for a free evening that may never come, look for pockets of time that already exist: your lunch break, early mornings, the quiet before bed. Consistency grows when writing becomes part of a routine you already keep.

3. Decide ahead of time how you’ll use short sessions. Short writing windows work best when you know what you’re doing before you sit down. Leave yourself notes at the end of each session so you’re not starting from scratch the next day.

4. Lower the pressure to “make it good" right now. Returning after a break can make you overly aware of every sentence. Try to focus on staying connected to the work rather than judging it. This one is especially hard for me, as I'm always fighting the internal editor as I write, but it's important to remember that the time will come to refine the details. Right now, as you're getting back into your writing, it's essential to keep yourself moving forward.

5. Let the season you’re in inform your expectations. Some seasons allow for deep immersion. Others call for gentle persistence. Neither is better; they’re just different.

Showing Up Is Enough for Now

Right now, I’m not trying to sprint. I’m walking my way back to the page—slowly, steadily, and without self-reproach. The novel is still there. The desire to tell the story is still there. And each small moment of attention reminds me why I started in the first place.

If you’re in a season where writing feels harder than usual, you’re not failing. You’re human. Showing up in small ways is still showing up, and sometimes, that’s exactly what your story needs.

If you’d like to follow along as I continue working through this process, I share reflections, lessons, and craft insights here in the "On Writing" blog—along with what I’m learning as I write my novel, one small step at a time.