By Ashley Warren

For writers, resolutions can be starting points; this is the year you’ll write your novel or set to work on that collection of poems. If not a starting point, the New Year can be a marker on a work in progress. Resolutions become axiomatic—I will write 250 words a day. I will write 1,000 words a day. I will finish this manuscript in the next six months. 

You’d be hard pressed to find a writer that doesn’t exalt the value of putting your butt in the chair and words on the page in a frequent and regular manner (we even recommend it). But what happens if you put in the time, put down the words, send the work out, and nobody cares? 

I was a ballerina for thirteen years and went to college on a music scholarship. There are few better ways to learn discipline than through years of plies and/or scales. I carried my upbringing in discipline to my writing career—it got me through an MFA, a novel, and I landed a literary agent. But when we tried to sell my novel the journey stopped—none of the editors at the publishing houses my agent queried wanted my book. And a few short months later, my agent reorganized her client list and let me go. 

Discipline—my resolve to write and be published—arguably, didn’t work. 

Despite my best efforts, I spent the next two years fighting with what would best be called Writer’s Block. I put my butt in the chair, I set word counts, but I couldn’t bring myself to complete anything, or send out any work. When I reflected, it eventually became clear that my perseverance, in some ways, had been holding me back. One editor who rejected my book pinpointed this in her rejection note: “I thought this was a really interesting and well-told story, and all in all, I very much enjoyed it…[but] I felt there should be more to be able to point a finger to in order to resonate with an audience.”

Through discipline, I had learned to tell stories well, but that something was still missing. That something was heart. I had written a story that even I wasn’t 100% committed to.

When we get so focused on a goal, sometimes we forget the passion along the way. Looking back, that novel started as a homework assignment. It was a short story, and on someone’s suggestion, it became a novel. It wasn’t a story that was clawing to get out of me, it was a curiosity and I followed. 

Now, as the fog and emotional paralysis of Writer’s Block lifts, I find my approach has softened. We writers know that language is important, and so I’ve revised the words I use to talk about my writing. I’m no longer a disciplined writer. I’m dedicated. 

I’m dedicating myself to the notions that keep me up at night, the ideas and turns of phrase I thumb into the Notes app on my phone. If a project loses heart (or doesn’t have any), I save it to a folder on my laptop (the modern equivalent of “put it in a drawer”) and I move on. I’m dedicated to the craft of writing because I believe it’s important to encapsulate the human experience in words. That’s what I’m endeavoring toward. Not an outcome. And that brings my butt to the chair better than any New Year’s resolution could. 

Ashley K. Warren was raised in Missoula, MT, and began her artistic career as a ballerina and musician. She attended Concordia College on a music scholarship but found her creative home in the English department. She went on to receive her MFA in creative writing from University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast MFA program. Author of the poetry chapbook Today’s Body, she also writes fiction and nonfiction, and her work has appeared in various publications. When she’s not writing, Ashley teaches in the Free Verse Writing Project and works as a digital managing editor in radio.