There’s a cruel irony in the writing life that nobody warns you about when you first get serious about it. You think the hard part is coming up with a good idea, carving out the time to write it, and actually typing the words. But no: the real test comes later, when you’ve finished that draft, set it loose into the world of beta readers and editors, and suddenly find yourself…waiting.
That’s where I am right now with Ephemeris. The manuscript is out with beta readers, collecting their notes, and then it’ll need to come back to me for copy edits and rewrites before it even sniffs at publication. That’s all normal. That’s all part of the process. But while Ephemeris sits on the runway, waiting for clearance to take off, my brain has decided now is the perfect time to roll out the red carpet for a brand-new story idea.
And oh, this new one feels like a keeper. I’ve already got a working title: Kentucky Dirt & Morning Light, and it’s been slowly unfurling in my head like a beautiful, stubborn flower. The characters are tapping me on my shoulder, the setting is coming into focus, and scenes keep popping up uninvited while I’m in the middle of washing dishes or trying to fall asleep. Every instinct I have is screaming: “Write it now! Strike while the iron’s hot!”
But here’s the problem. My mentor Stephen King (shh…he doesn’t know it yet), in On Writing, hammers home a basic truth: you can only write one book at a time.
The Discipline of the One
Now, to be clear, King wasn’t saying you can’t have multiple ideas floating around. He’s Stephen King. His brain is basically an industrial factory where haunted cars, killer clowns, and telekinetic high schoolers punch a timeclock. What he meant is that when it comes to actual drafting, actual focused work, you need to pick one project and see it through.
It’s common sense, really. If I split my attention, neither story gets my full energy. Ephemeris would limp to the finish line half-starved, and Kentucky Dirt & Morning Light would start life as a malnourished idea that never had a chance to grow into its full potential.
And this is where patience comes in…that most underrated of writing virtues.
The Waiting Is the Work
There’s a misconception that the only “real” writing happens when your fingers are hammering the keyboard. That’s the visible work, yes, but the invisible work is just as important. The waiting. The thinking. The letting a story simmer until it’s ready to be told.
Right now, Kentucky Dirt & Morning Light is still cooking in the back of my mind. I can jot down notes, collect scraps of dialogue, and build out character sketches, but I can’t sit down and draft it yet. If I try, it’ll come out half-baked.
Meanwhile, Ephemeris deserves my full patience. It’s not glamorous, this phase of the process. Waiting for feedback. Accepting criticism. Wrestling with rewrites. It feels passive, like I’m not moving forward. But in truth, it’s essential. This is where a draft becomes a book. This is where the raw clay gets shaped into something someone might actually want to read.
If I try to skip ahead, I’m not just cheating the book: I’m cheating myself.
Learning to Sit Still
Patience doesn’t come naturally to me. Maybe it doesn’t come naturally to most writers. We’re dreamers, after all. We thrive on what-if and what-next. It’s hard to live in the in-between space where your first book isn’t done and your second can’t yet begin.
But here’s the thing I’m slowly realizing: sitting still has its own kind of momentum. By not rushing into Kentucky Dirt & Morning Light, I’m allowing it to deepen. The characters get richer in my head. The plot twists have time to surprise even me. And when the day comes that I can finally open that blank document and start page one, I’ll have more than just enthusiasm: I’ll have a foundation.
Until then, my job is to stay faithful to the process. Finish Ephemeris. Make it the best version of itself. Send it out into the world proud of the work I put into it. Only then do I earn the right to start the next thing.
The Takeaway
So here’s where I land: patience isn’t a delay. It’s an investment. By waiting, I’m ensuring both stories get the space they need to become what they’re meant to be.
It’s not easy. Every day, Kentucky Dirt & Morning Light whispers in my ear like a siren on the rocks. But every day I remind myself…one book at a time.
And maybe that’s the best writing advice of all. Not just for Stephen King, not just for me, but for anyone tempted to scatter their energy across too many projects. Writing is a marathon, not a sprint. Maybe the hardest discipline isn’t pounding out the words: it’s having the patience to let them arrive in their own time.
So Ephemeris comes first. The rest will wait.
