Know When to Stop
Writing can seem endless — it can feel endless and it can be endless in practice, if you don’t make a habit of stopping. I get that sounds utterly fatuous: of course things keep going if you just neglect to stop. But stopping is a conscious choice, a skill, and a necessity, if you ever want your writing out in the world, or if you don’t want to damage your writing by overworking it.
Honestly, the latter is the most pressing danger I see in client work: not trusting yourself when you think the manuscript might finally be accessible, clear, and perhaps even elegant and, therefore, just done. You’re never going to create a perfect piece of writing, and becoming too focused on minutiae can kill the manuscript’s spontaneity and life, and stop you from ever letting it go. And ultimately, for most of us, the goal is to send our writing off into the world, to be read by others.
The other, working too hard or too long in one stretch, can result in you losing perspective and critical, creative judgment. This happens to me a lot when I’m editing or writing: I can’t track the argument anymore or even tell you what the keywords of the piece are. That’s when I know I have pushed it too long and absolutely have to stop.
But ideally you don’t want to push it this long; it takes longer to recover from that level of cognitive and sensory confusion than it would had you stopped earlier. Similar indicators appear when it’s time to stop revisions and instead let your manuscript be.
Sounds good. How do I know when to stop?
I don’t know if he actually said this or if it’s apocryphal, but Hemingway is reputed to have said that he stopped each day’s writing before he got to the end of his ideas, so that he’d know where to start the next day.
Misogynist cis male writers are not my favorite people to quote, especially not for lifestyle advice, but this seems fair to me. If you stop before you deplete your day’s store of ideas, or before the end of your current concept map, it should be easier to start the next day. You’ll be picking up a thread that you already know, which helps with getting back into the writing groove.
Leave yourself wanting — or knowing — more so that future you has something to build on. You might also find yourself thinking and developing your ideas in the back of your mind as you go about your life in the meantime.
You’ve convinced me. How do I stop though?
Some people do daily word count targets they hope to meet. Other common writing advice includes setting yourself a task or making a short bullet list of where you’ll be picking up next time. If you do that, I suggest no more than three short bullet points, enough to act as an easy-to-digest reminder that will jog your ideas but not overwhelm you.
And if you’ve taken time away from a manuscript, or project, and the page is staring accusatorily at you, then how about walking away from the computer and talking to someone? This could be your editor, writing group, colleagues, friends, partners, or random person in line with you somewhere.
You could also apostrophize to your pets, but they don’t tend to ask interesting, energizing questions, which is really the goal of talking to someone. As I’ve written before, we are most of us so much more used to talking than writing that it can take the pressure off to move to spoken words. And it can be fun!
These tips are geared toward writing as a practice, and they’re super useful for that, but what if the question is not, “how do I stop for the day?” but instead, “how can I tell when my manuscript is done so that I can stop for good?”?
Great, I’ve got stopping down, but how do I know when I’m done?
This one is trickier, because it’s less about practice and more about judgment. But that doesn’t mean that evaluating the state of your manuscript and knowing when to take your hands away from it isn't a skill that you can develop — and teach others. The main tip I have for you, though, is fuzzier: instinct and trust.
We can get so stuck in that it becomes difficult to see the larger arc of our piece, or even to remember where we wanted to go or see if we’ve made it there. Some of that is literally getting too close for too long — writing myopia that feels like crashing blood sugar or getting very confused. When you can no longer see the big scale for the small one, it’s time to stop, walk away, and let it rest, until you can see the manuscript as a whole, as it is and how it is working.
Often this is not only an indication to stop for the day but also an indication to stop overall. Or to ask someone else to read it and tell you what might still need work; their new perspective can help reorient you. And if they tell you it’s done or very close to done (and they’re people whose judgment you respect), believe them. Fiddling further will probably only cause problems.
That’s why you have writing buddies, colleagues, and editors. We have the detachment and perspective to be able to see what is on the page for what it is, in all its possibilities and problems, rather than what your brain and months — or years — of thinking and research want it to be.
Much more simply, often you’re done when you’ve said everything you wanted. Then it’s time to stop, before you overcomplicate it with more. Use that new idea for the next piece you’re about to start on..
