There was a point in time when I firmly believed I’d never attain any sort of success as a writer. Of course, I was pleasantly surprised when my career took off in mid-2020 with the release of my first poem collection, Carbon Footprint. The success of the book and the sheer amount of content I generated throughout the pandemic allowed for the successes of my next two books, Feats of Alchemy (2021) and Casting Seeds (2022) to take shape. After that whirlwind three years of book releases, readings, workshops, and marketing, I realized that I needed a year to recharge, which was actually something I felt ashamed about [at first].
Part of that shame stemmed from the fear of not continuing to strike while the iron was hot. I had spent so many years cultivating a following that the pressure of letting people down made me think that I’d fade into obscurity again (something a lot of LGBTQ+ writers fear considering our niche topic areas and erasure trauma). Despite these worries, I knew I needed to mentally recharge. So, I made the decision to take 2023 as my year off.
Let me make one thing clear, despite taking the year off, I was still writing. I worked on some poetic music projects, wrote individual poems, wrote poetry for a comic book. I was still being productive, it just took a different shape beyond that of assembling a book. Periodically, I would do a reading or an interview where someone would ask, “what’s next, Donny?” Sometimes they’d add, “writer’s take downtime, what’s that look like? I didn’t know that was a thing.” I didn’t either until I made the decision to take a break. As a result, I began to make a number of discoveries about my identity as a writer.
Unlearning Expectations about Output Frequency
I’ve recently told people in interviews and workshops that: “we all can’t have the impressive creative output of Taylor Swift.” I think many of us aspire to have that level of creative output, and I fancied myself one of those people until I realized that it simply wasn’t sustainable for me. I began watching other writers develop work and release collection after collection, which I believed was something I had to do. The discovery I made was that that’s simply not how I work. I had to unpack my own creative processes – some people are creative in consistent stints through out each year. Not me, I have random (and unpredictable) spurts of creative output. I’m sure much of this is attributed to my mental health and my job as a college professor. Throughout the year, there are variables tapping energy from that creative cistern. This is typically why I’m at my most creative throughout the summer (and sometimes October since that’s when my poetry challenge happens). In the end, I learned that my output does not have to match the outputs of other writers.
Create Organically, Not Forcefully
Early on in my year off, I felt the need to produce more due to the established pressure mentioned. As a result, I began to try to force myself to write, which made me feel resentful of the craft. I made myself stop because my mind was telling me, “Donny, you deserve this break. The quality of your work is suffering.” So, I put the pen down and learned that to create organically, the rejuvenation period matters because it uplifts the quality of my work versus attempting to churn something out by force.
Navigating Burnout
Midway through my year off, I discovered that the main villain in my story was burnout. I didn’t take into consideration that three successful books over the course of three back-to-back years would tax me, creativitly speaking. Being new to the publication world back in 2020, I didn’t realize the level of marketing I needed to do to sustain any sort of success. I knew I was social media savvy; however, the level of consistency required seemed daunting. On top of the marketing, publically performing at workshops and readings, facilitating open mics, while balancing an already performative full-time job made me realize how depleted I felt. That burnout began impacting my mental health in a way I couldn’t quite articulate at the time. At this point, I began realizing that this downtime was doing something more for me; it was crucial rest for my mind.
I’m Not T-Swift, but I Do Have Eras
Granting myself the grace to take a year off from continuous output taught me one other important thing: the spaces of downtime in between eras actually matter. Like musicians organizing album eras, I began thinking of my poem collections in terms of “eras” as well. Carbon Footprint had its own unique era, the same with Feats of Alchemy and Casting Seeds. I began to relax another pressure I had subliminally kept internally: “how do I one-up myself next time?” This downtime reiterated to me that success isn’t one-upping former peaks, it’s about sustaining one’s craft and legacy through the enrichment this work promotes.
Books Aren’t the End-All, Be-All
One of the things I’m grateful for during this year of downtime has been the versatility I’ve developed as a writer. Unique opportunities presented themselves throughout 2023 – working on an album of song-poems with brotherwell and having the opportunity to write poems for a Godzilla comic celebrating the character’s 70th anniversary. The discovery that my poetry can find presence in multiple forms of media helped me appreciate not only the versatility of the artform itself but the transferability of my abilities. Had I not taken this downtime, I would have never made these discoveries.
Overall, looking back on this year in low-power-mode has made me more excited about my eras to come. I’ve been hard at work on my third full-length collection of poems, the comic book I worked on is about to meet the world, and the music project with brotherwell is ongoing. The shame in taking a break no longer exists because it helped me realize that my horizons are brighter and longer than I ever could have imagined. So, take that break if needed. It does wonders for the creative spark.
xoxo
Donny
Donny Winter 