All The Unfinished Drafts That Writers Leave Behind

Yesterday I received a phone call from a friend of mine. We’d published a book together a few years ago, and we’ve completed the draft of a sequel. Our progress was stalled by a disagreement over how the book should begin, but it’s a complete manuscript that has undergone several rounds of editing.This last year has been brutal for everyone, but it’s been particularly hard for my writer friend. Both he and his wife have been dealing with health issues.“I was wondering if I could have the manuscript back,” he asked. He’d given it to me to try and place, but I’ve been occupied with other tasks.“I want to see it in print before I go,” he said.“Of course you can have it,” I replied. “Take care of yourself.” We’re both writers. The whole point of writing a book is to create something that will endure after we have gone.“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a lifeline. It’s something to give me purpose.”“It will be published one way or another,” I said. “I promise you that.”When inspiration fallsI fully intend to see that book in print, but lately I’ve faced so much work that many important jobs are getting pushed from my plate. Last week I had to cancel an interview with a Congressional candidate. I’ll close my eyes for a moment’s rest and wake up an hour later. Exhaustion turns to poor temper and I end up starting fires rather than putting them out. Writers need rest, but there’s no time for rest these days.In addition to the manuscript with my writer friend, my voice notes are piling up. I have a file with a hundred transcripts to work through on my desktop. I have over two hundred voice notes that haven’t been transcribed on my phone. My email has thousands of seeds of inspiration I’ve carefully collected in the hope that I’d have time to plant them down the road.How many end up cultivated? Is it as many as ten percent, or is it closer to one? Perhaps even the complete manuscript that’s been gathering dust will tumble off my plate into oblivion.All that we have gatheredI’ve often contemplated on what will happen to my data at the end of my life. Throughout the years, I’ve meticulously kept backups of all my files. These files contain outlines for future books, half-written chapters, the seeds of stories that will likely forever remain untold.Even today I’ll sometimes go back into my archives and wonder what I could have possibly been thinking when I scribbled down a half comprehensible note. How could anyone else go through those papers and find anything worth saving?We’ve all had the experience of quitting jobs, and waking up on our last day to look upon an inbox of a thousand emails knowing we didn’t have to respond to any.“All those problems belong to somebody else,” you think with satisfaction as you log out for the last time.But the notes and drafts I’ve made over the years aren’t problems, they’re vital clues on the long path that leads to revelation. At least, that’s what they seemed like when the universe conspired to pass them on to me.Harvesting insight from the voidSeeds of inspiration come to you out of some sort of cosmic purpose. They flutter down directly from the heavens to land in the place where dreams are made. That’s the raw material that allows you to speak the words only you can say.What a shame to leave that raw material unfulfilled.It fills me with melancholy to think I might get to the end of my life and leave behind ideas like rainwater collected in a barrel. This is pure, fresh water that needs to be distributed so as to quench the thirst of the world.I’ve spent many years writing stories for my children, and I have eight fully completed manuscripts. These are more than the seeds of inspiration. These are entire books laid out, first drafts, but of good quality.It pleases me to think that someone who might come along behind could read those pages with care and polish off the rough edges into something fine. There are obvious typos and incorrect words, but the bones of the story are strong.Maybe my daughters will complete the task. If that’s the case, then they’ll gather up my work with more talented hands than my own, assuming they aren’t occupied by rain barrels of inspiration of their own.We are but a link in a chainWe needn’t seek perfection, we only have to bring along the inspiration to a point where the value is obvious even if it’s imperfectly contained. An illegible scrawl is a waste, but a thousand pages is like the block of marble that contained the statue of David.Once inspiration has been captured, it’s preserved.When the time comes for me to go, I’ll leave behind hard drives full of files. I’ll leave notebooks bursting with illegible scribbles. I’ll leave an inbox flush with incomprehensible riddles.There will also be a handful of completed books. I haven’t thought about those in years. A finished work represents moments of inspiration that have been cleared. I only have energy to consider the work that’s yet undone.A life of many chaptersI expect a day will come when I no longer have energy to create. My hope is that I’ll finally have time to sit down and sort through everything I’ve gathered in all these years, and attempt to archive the inspiration into some kind of useful database.I want to offer a neat and tidy package so that I don’t leave a mess behind. We go through many stages in our lives. At my last physical, my doctor told me he was worried about my cholesterol.“You can no longer eat anything with four legs.”That brought about an odd moment of recognition. There have been times when I’ve debated whether I should order steak or fish. Most often, I chose the steak. Now that choice is gone. It’s fish from here on.I’ve entered my era of fish. Steak has been pushed from my plate. Instead of loss I have a sense of relief because that’s one less choice I have to make.Inspiration will come again, you’ll seeSometimes I fear we waste too much energy on uncertainty when many of our choices have already been made. When I was young, I felt compelled to run marathons. Even then, I wondered about all the things I had to give up in order to race and train. But then I realized there would come a day when things would change. I knew I could explore other opportunities when I took off my running shoes for the last time.I was right.I ran marathons when I had the strength. Now that I have aged, there’s more space on my plate.We can’t pursue every droplet of inspiration that falls, but we can gather them up and gaze upon them like a snow globe, and feel a delightful sense of awe. We keep them on shelves, or in notebooks, or in barrels, and wait for our plate to clear up some space.No matter how much time you have the privilege to receive, there are unfinished drafts every writer leaves. But don’t concern yourself with worry. Collected seeds retain their potency for a long, long time.Thank you for the support: 30% off 💙 40% off 💙 50% off 💙 60% offI'd Rather Be Writing is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to I'd Rather Be Writing at walterrhein.substack.com/subscribe