On Feeling Discouraged and Keeping On
What happens when you feel discouraged and don't feel like you can stop?
Let’s talk about the book.
I started writing it almost two years ago.
Finished it about a year later.
Let it sit for another year.
Then handed it off to my future son-in-law to edit. He did a solid job.
But—
when I read it again, something felt off. The rhythm was wrong.
It didn’t sound like me.
So I started tweaking the style.
Someone suggested a hybrid approach.
That’s actually how this blog post is written.
Then I stumbled onto lyrical writing.
Looks like poetry—but it’s not.
I loved it.
I loved it so much, I’d come home and read each day’s chapter aloud to my wife.
I started posting snippets on social media
.
People responded.
So I rewrote the entire book in that style:
86,000 words.
798 pages.
And I loved it.
I sent it out to early readers.
And—
you guessed it.
Most didn’t love the style.
Some liked the content but said the style made it hard to read.
Too hard.
We started pitching to agents and publishers.
Many loved the concept.
Several said I needed a bigger audience (more on that in a minute).
Almost all disliked the style.
(800 pages can be intimidating, I get it.)
So, I’ve decided to rewrite it again—
this time in a more accessible hybrid/essay style.
It’s not a total restart. The content is there.
I just need to make it more "sentency"—let it breathe more on the page.
That’s the work of an artist, right?
Probably.
But I’ll be honest—
it crushed me.
So few connected with the style I loved.
And now I’d have to go back to debating every word again.
Line by line.
I wanted the feedback.
I appreciated the feedback.
And—
it still spun me out.
I wrote in my journal that I might’ve jinxed myself,
because I’d told people I was in a creative sweet spot—
a “content nirvana.”
Then—
Boom.
Suddenly, writing felt like typing buried in sand.
You ever been there?
Where something you asked for still knocked you sideways?
Life is hard.
Creating things in life can make it even harder.
But that’s the process.
That’s the point.
I told my wife I loved writing in that style so much,
I didn’t care if no one read it.
Then I had to ask myself if that was true.
I’ve wanted to quit more times than I can count.
I’ve been afraid.
Discouraged.
Uncertain.
But the book keeps bubbling up inside me.
Like if I don’t get it out, I’ll explode.
And every time I dive back in, I read the stories—
Real stories.
Real people.
Real pain.
Often caused by good intentions.
By systems meant to help.
None of it is made up.
Not one story.
And that’s why I write.
Because we have to examine these things.
Even when it’s uncomfortable.
So I’m rewriting
.
Again.
As many times as it takes.
I believe the conversations this book could spark are too important to give up on.
Do I feel confident?
No.
I’ve got a lot to figure out—
Growing my social presence.
Engaging daily.
It’s all living rent-free in my head.
But when I come back to these three questions:
· What do I want?
· What am I willing to pay to get it?
· What am I willing to risk for it?
I land in the same place every time:
Keep going.
I actually talked about this—and read the book’s intro—in this week’s podcast.
You can find it in your favorite podcast app or listen here.
What this means for you:
1. The wait continues. I’m working on a rewrite while my team pursues agents and publishers.
2. You can help. If you haven’t yet, follow me on social (links below). A strong following helps get this book out there.
3. Share this blog. If it resonated with you, send it to a friend. I don’t spam. I don’t flood inboxes. Promise.
Thanks for reading this far.
I mean that.
To follow me and stay updated: