When the Words Don’t Come: Writing Through the Fog

There’s something magical about writing a book that connects with people — really connects. That moment when readers fall in love with your characters, your world, your words. When they send messages like “I need more” or “When’s the next one?”

And then the magic turns into pressure.

Because what if I can’t finish?

What if I can’t do it again?

What if the person I was when I wrote the last book just… doesn’t exist anymore?

This isn’t writer’s block. It’s deeper. It’s burnout mixed with fear, layered with health struggles and the chaos of ADHD. It’s the overwhelming guilt of having people waiting on you when you’re not even sure you can make it through the day.

Some days, ADHD scatters my thoughts so badly I can’t stay on one storyline for more than ten minutes. Other days, my heart condition reminds me that I physically can’t keep pushing the way I used to. And in between, there’s the exhaustion — not just from writing, but from everything that surrounds it.

Because writing the book is only one part of being an author.

Then there’s the marketing.
The social media.
The constant posting.
Trying to be engaging and on brand and visible without annoying people or burning out.

What do I even post about today? How do I stay consistent when I barely have energy to reply to a message, let alone keep up a “presence”? The algorithm doesn’t care if I’m tired. The book world moves fast, and there’s this constant pressure to keep up — or disappear.

On top of that, I’m trying to run this like a business. That means making sure books are in stores, updating links, organizing promos, answering emails, doing taxes (ew), and trying to look like I know what I’m doing when most days, I feel like I’m faking it.

That’s the heart of it, isn’t it?

Imposter syndrome.

It’s loud. It tells me I’m not doing enough. That I’m not good enough. That someone else could do it all better and faster and still remember to send out a newsletter. That my success is a fluke and any day now, someone’s going to figure that out.

But here’s the raw truth: I’m still here. Still writing. Still trying.

Even when the words don’t come easily.
Even when I’m tired.
Even when I’m scared I’ll let everyone down.

Because the stories still live inside me — even if they come slower than they used to. Because I still love this, even when it hurts. And because you’re still here, too — reading, cheering, waiting. And that means more than I can ever fully explain.

So if you’re an artist, a writer, a creative — or even just a human — feeling like you’re failing because you can’t keep up…
Let me say this loud and clear:

You are not failing. You’re just surviving. And that is enough.

This post doesn’t have a neat ending or a triumphant twist. It’s just me, waving from the middle of the mess, whispering I’m still trying.

And for now, that has to be okay.

— Courtney 💜