On Writing (and Pausing)
About a year before Speculative Relations came out--while it was in production and I couldn't edit anything--I was in a rhythm writing "the next book". This next book is supposed to be a memoir. A memoir or perhaps what they call narrative non-fiction.
By the time Speculative Relations was published, classes had started again, in fall 2025, I had written about 40k words on this other project, this memoir-narrative-non-fiction book. Forty thousand words is a lot. It's basically a whole manuscript.
And then I stopped.
I stopped and taught and gave talks and did admin and mentored and wrote letters, so many letters, and submitted my file for promotion to full professor (which has been approved by the SBU President! but still needs to go through the SUNY chancellor's office). I worked on other things.
And I lost momentum.
Losing momentum is a dangerous thing for me. Maybe for others, too. I stopped going to the gym during COVID, and haven't managed to make it back more than a few times. I stopped going to the dentist during COVID, and I haven't been back in years. I know I should. Jesus, I do. But I get stuck. My feet don't take me there. I get busy or tired or depressed or defeated. And nothing can get me unstuck.
In the case of this memoir, somehow, miraculously, I managed to carve out the willingness to open the document and start poking around. Start writing again, new parts, here and there. Editing sometimes, too.
Over the past month, I have regained the momentum. A small joy, but still something to celebrate.
This weekend I started trying to think more directly about how all these words, shaped loosely into chapters, shaped into memories, would fit together as something people would want to read.
A memoir is not an academic book. And yes, my most recent academic book has a lot of autobiographical writing, but it isn't a memoir. And yes, I pay close attention to prose style in that book, but it isn't really for a 'general reader'. It kind of is. But also, not entirely.
And I am sitting here today--Sunday afternoon--trying to work out a structure for this memoir-narrative-non-fiction, and I am having the distinct feeling of what it means to write.
To write. As in, to be a writer puzzling through the pieces. To be a writer and not an academic. As in, to be writing while thinking of the prose and its style and its narrative arc, and does it have a narrative arc? does it need one? Is this a character? Am I showing or telling?
Show. Show more. Show better. Stop telling. Stop arguing, stop constructing an argument, and write. Be a writer. Story.
I've been working on the structure of this new project that is not really new. I've been working on it for about four years now. And I wish I could have started with an outline, a structure, and then written from there. But that isn't how I've done it. It isn't how I wrote. And now, part of my challenge, is taking these pieces and trying to fit them into something story-like, something moving.
I'm writing this, here, now, rather than editing because I've run into a wall today. But I went outside, walked the dog, have some dinner, and will leave the rest for tomorrow.
The good news is that I have been coming to this desk, this keyboard, (almost) daily, and that is how I need to show up in order for this work to get done. For this to become something. I am no longer stuck, not like I used to be. I know this memoir needs more structure, more direct connection between its parts.
I don't quite know how to do that yet, what it will feel like, what shape this really needs to take. I don't have the answer, but at least I can really see the need for one.
These issues are part of writing, yes, but sometimes, at least in my academic work, I can stop for a while and then start back up right where I left off. In this case, the warmup period is longer. It takes me more time and energy to focus on the details and the smells, the picture-making, the storying. And that's ok. But I have to remember that my writing, in this case, needs to be slow and methodical. And it has to be measured. (I love how K'eguro writes about things left fallow, but I admit that scares me in this case). Still. I'm writing, and I'm prosing. And that's what I need to do for this work to move forward.
PS. There are some people receiving this message who subscribed to my Substack, which I am no longer using. I have transferred that subscription to this Ghost.io newsletter.
