It’s been three weeks since I last wrote, and throughout my silence, I’ve been wrought with guilt. At first, it was okay not to write. Surely you can do without me for a week. Then a second and third week passed, and I realised this is what happens when you fall off the wagon when you decide to take consistency for granted. Excuses but I was tired, lazy, and overwhelmed. The good thing is — you can always start over. At least for me, there's beauty in track records, milestones, and keeping your word. But there’s also something noble about picking yourself up, dusting off your clothes, and finding the drive to carry on. And so I’m back like I never left to this space that feels like home.
You know when you drop a bad habit and pick up something in its place to help you survive? Not that these letters are a bad habit, but what I threw away in not consistently writing, I gained in consistently going to the gym. I like the idea of stability. But it’s not always readily available. Unfortunately.
So much has changed in just three weeks. It’s amazing and scary how fast life can come at you. In reviewing Darren Hardy’s ‘The Compound Effect’, James Clear writes that success is doing a half dozen things well, repeated five thousand times. I’m in a place where I’m reaping some, not massive, results of small things like writing this newsletter most Thursdays over the past few years and writing generally.
All of that to say, I’m no longer sure I can continue to write at a consistent cadence. At least not for now. I’m exhausted from balancing a full-time job with other kinds of writing projects. Writing to you was/is my private pleasure. I can make up my own rules and experiment as much as I like. I don’t want it to become tortuous — an activity I dread. I want to retain the beauty and wonder that comes each time I pick up my phone or computer to type. This is my attempt at being transparent and ensuring you get a sense that I understand the need to meet expectations and not abandon projects halfway.
I’ll write as often as I can on books I read, the places I visit and the beauty of this ordinary, ordinary world, but it may not come every Thursday night. Can I ask if that’s okay? That you won’t suddenly forget my letters? It’ll make me happy if you won’t.
Over the next few months, my personal writing will focus on fiction. I’m excited to be fully committed to the journey of writing a novel. Over the past few days (and weeks), I’ve poured myself into writing and rewriting, and I’ve realised that commitment is critical to this project. Nobody tells you this but writing a novel seems to need a good amount of ‘child-like sense of wonder’ or how else are you to create beauty in the ordinary and mundane? With the short form, I can brag that my understanding of language economy helps. But with novel writing… let’s just say it’s not exactly my strength. It’s going to be so hard, but I’ll embrace falling and picking myself up, and will religiously document what I learn.
I’ll write at least once a month. That’s a promise. I’ll share lessons and updates from my project — and the other projects I’m working on. As usual, I’ll share anecdotes from my life, thoughts on what I’m reading, and more. I won’t bore you with the details. As always, if you have any questions, need my opinion or want to share thoughts, you can write to me anytime.
All my love.
"... the beauty of this ordinary, ordinary world." I've never liked the word 'ordinary' better than when I read this sentence. Haha. Wishing you the best in your novel experiences and gym grind. And looking forward to reading more newsletters -- random as they may be.
All the best, Ope. I trust your novel will be excellent.