How to Rebuild your Writer's Nest

Photo by Ben Mullins on Unsplash

I should be writing, but instead, I’m watching birds.

Specifically, the bird house attached to my back deck. Each season, I look forward to April because I know there will be new babies coming. Usually, the pregnant robins begin to check it out and poke around, trying to decide if they want to start their family by my sliding glass doors.

The nest is already there. I was surprised in the Fall when a sparrow discovered it and decided to stay instead of flying south –I don’t know much about birds—settling in to the nest that had once housed baby robins.

She was a little thing, and before long, she’d decided to build the nest so high, you couldn’t see anything behind the crazed sprawl of twigs and sticks. Sometimes, I’d try to peer in to make sure she was okay and still there, and I’d get an angry noise or she’d fly out, all pissy.

I’m not sure when she left. Sometime in the winter, the nest was empty again. So, I waited for Spring.

This week, it’s finally happening. There were Robins jumping around my back yard and I figured one of them would claim it. Imagine my surprise when more sparrows showed up, but this time, it was three of them. Somehow, they claimed the nest. How is that done, I wonder? Is it a matter of getting there first – like early birds get the worm? Is there a bird battle with a declared winner?

Today, I was mesmerized by the ritual of how they are readying the nest. It seems the last sparrow had made a mess, so the new sparrows are cleaning it up. Each of them take turns rooting around and removing one twig at a time. It’s fascinating—this strange sort of assembly line that’s slowly lowering the high wall.Then one of the birds will climb into it and just stay there for a while, maybe testing it out. My deck is littered with nest materials.

Thank goodness, my dogs don’t seem to bother or care about our returning visitors.

As I spent too much time watching this little nature miracle occur and ignoring my book, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the process of birds making a home. How often am I reminded that all of these tasks build toward the goal? Completing the small, sometimes boring tasks is a huge part of reaching the goal. Sometimes, I like doing them. Mostly, I don’t. I believe these jobs should all try to be enjoyed, or at least, tolerated without unnecessary stress.

The birds look focused and happy. I’m sure some of the process is harder than other parts. Like writing a book. I find myself willing my Muse to get to the sixty percent mark where everything clicks and makes sense and suddenly I’m flying, chasing the ending, giddy with the power of creativity and the knowledge the end is finally coming.

I still dread the early middle. It’s the time I seek out reality television and lots of whining. Some books fare better than others, but I’ve rarely hit the hard parts and been happy. Yet, there will always be a middle to get through. Wouldn’t it be wonderful next time, not to worry as much? To trust the slow slog, the questioning, the puzzle of what piece fits where? I have enough books behind me to call onto blind faith, but is there any other career where no matter how much you practice, you still think you can’t do it?

I’d love to write 100 books by the end of my lifetime. That would be pretty damn cool. I think I’ll have a giant party somewhere fun, with lots of food and wine and dancing. I’ll invite family, friends, and readers. Anyone who wants to come. I have about forty books left to get there with no idea how much time I have left.

But I know one thing I’m always working on lately.

Not stressing as much during the hard parts.

Same with money. There is always a reason to worry about money and not having enough. Not making enough book sales. Not making enough royalty checks. Not getting enough contracts. Not having enough followers or subscribers. Not having movie or television deals. Not having ALL that I want and dream of.

Honestly? It will never be enough. I think if I got a Reese book pick and a feature film, I’d still worry about what’s next. Or if I could even produce something good enough to be next. I’d want more – to push myself to the next level. It’s a beautiful thing until it’s not.

The key is balance. The delicate balance between growth and ego; between success and my asshole brain’s idea of failure.

I’ve been doing a hell of a lot of work with manifestation and energy to try and smooth out those rough, bumpy edges.

I make more conscious decisions now to drill down and try to enjoy each task, in each process.

Yet, even this week, I found myself rushing to an ending. I’m working on a proposal for a new book as I write this one that’s coming out on Labor Day. As I switch back and forth, trying to create the perfect hook, blurb, rough outline, and a sample chapter, I’m feeling both the rush of writing something new with the devil on my shoulder whispering, “Faster. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to the next thing!”

Even more interesting? When I was writing those first chapters, I was swept up in the creative rush of adrenlin. The ideas were pumping and I was on fire. I remembered how good it felt to just write and be wrapped up in a new story, the shiny road ahead, waiting for me to discover it.

Then I got sidetracked by the business side again, and slowed down. Because I still needed to do a bunch of admin and other things that are part of the foundation.

The unending tasks to be a successful writer nowadays is overwhelming. Each path is littered with tasks, many of them dull. Tweak ads. Post a video. Write a bonus short. Update back matter. Promote. Do a podcast.

Yet, each is important because it’s a snowball effect, and leads to the entire snowman, outfit with hat, pipe, and hopefully yelling “Happy Birthday!”

Amy McNee wrote a wonderful post on Substack about rest that lit up my insides. Read it here: (3) The discipline of Rest. - by Amie McNee - Amie’s Substack

She also wrote a beautiful book called We Need Your Art that’s a fabulous read and perfect gift for any creatives. I like the way she’s brave about sharing things we’ve always kept secret. When I wrote my book, Write Naked, I had a panic attack about revealing so many of my vulnerabilities in a world where I tried to be fabulous. It was not only the best experience but I became addicted to trying to help and share more for writers.

So, for now, I’m nesting. Fixing and fiddling with things on my desk. Words on the page. Various stories. Figuring out where I want to be next. Figuring out what type of story I'm writing. Dark and angsty? Elegant and smart? Funny and quirky? A little bit of everything?

Letting my Muse have her time to just be, until she’s forging ahead, hungry to take this story to the next level. No matter what occupation or passion we have in our life, I think rest is not only mandatory, but healing. It sets us up for the next stage. We don't always have to be doing something. Rushing ahead. Dreaming of a future.

Dreams are great but even dreams are made with work. It all goes into the bigger goal. I wonder, if more of us had permission to just do less and let be, I bet the universe would sweep in, catch us up in a wave, and show us even MORE wonderful successful things because we finally gave it all up.

I’m ready for the ride.