I Wrote More Than Ever. So Why Do I Feel So Exhausted?

Looking at my Substack schedule feels strange. For three months, I was in a creative rush, finishing story after story. It felt like it would never end. Now, that huge backlog of posts feels like it was made by someone else—a version of me from the past who had way more energy. I did the work, but I don't feel like that person anymore.

I'm closer than ever to publishing my work, which is exciting but also terrifying. I have three stories deep in the editing process. One is almost done, and the other two are ready for beta readers. But being this close to the finish line isn't the relief I expected. The daily grind of editing, formatting, and scheduling posts three times a week is starting to wear me down. It’s taking the original fun out of creating.

It's also a strange, empty feeling to see the view count on my stories go up, while the comment section stays empty. I know people are reading, but the silence is loud. I tell myself I’ll be okay if I self-publish and don't get a lot of sales, but this feeling makes me worry. It shows that people can see your work without really connecting with it, and that hurts.

The funny thing about this burnout is that the more stories I finish, the more new ideas I get. You’d think finishing a project would close a door, but instead, it opens five new ones. I have my main series, the Deepline, which I feel a duty to finish. But I’m always tempted by the thrill of a brand-new idea, of building a new world and new characters from scratch. It’s a constant battle between focusing on my big project and chasing exciting new possibilities.

Being 32 changes how you think about time. I know I won't be young and healthy forever, and I have this fear that I’ll run out of time before I run out of ideas. It puts a new pressure on everything. I feel this need to write as much as I can, while I can, because I don't know what the future holds for my health.

So I’m torn. Part of me wants to write just for the love of it, to keep telling new stories. But another part of me really wants that validation—the dream of seeing my book in a big store like Barnes & Noble. I know I have to follow a different path for now. My hope is that I can learn to focus on the writing itself, not on where it might lead. In the end, I think the only choice is to keep writing, even when it’s quiet, and trust that the work itself is enough of a reward.