I used to struggle to find time to write.

No. Scratch that.

I used to struggle to prioritize my writing.

It’s an issue I hear so many writers struggling with, no matter where they are in their writing lives. Whether someone has written one or five or ten books, unless they have the ability to write full-time, writing can quickly fall to the back burner. Writing can become a hobby. Or less than.

And I have been no exception to that rule.

What my writing used to look like:

In 2010, after I completed graduate school and began working full-time as a social worker, I was sadly out of writing practice. It was a priority in graduate school because I was required to write papers for 90% of my classes. But creative writing? Nah. Wasn’t happening.

At that time in my life, I tried working on a novel in my spare time. Mostly on weekends. Admittedly, I wasn’t all that passionate about the project. I only did it because I knew I wanted to write.

I wasn’t prioritizing my writing because I was prioritizing other things instead. I had the lofty goal to write a novel, but lofty goals don’t matter when there is no plan to achieve them. When the thing we want isn’t being prioritized, it’s a true bummer that we can’t simply wish it into being.

Day in and day out, I had a dream to be a writer, but I had no clue how to turn that dream into a reality.

I’ve heard it said that the things that matter most in our lives are the things we prioritize. Plain and simple.

Me? I was a caretaker. I felt my only worth was in serving the world. Not that this is bad. It’s lofty and altruistic. But I became a martyr. I was also codependent. If I wasn’t working, I was focused on navigating my interpersonal relationships, especially romantic ones. I didn’t know I had ADHD or autism. I didn’t know I was transgender.

It made sense that my priorities were not in alignment with my true self, and that included the writing.

What I realized was that I was not prioritizing my writing because I did not know how to prioritize myself.

What changed…

One day in 2013, the perfect story idea fell into my lap. The only thing that had changed in my life was that I went vegan. I mention this because going vegan brought me closer to my authentic self as a nature and animal lover. And that led to the story idea for my debut novel, Sentient.

I was so passionate about the story idea that I had no choice but to make it a priority. It would have driven me insane, otherwise.

So while working full-time, I wrote every Sunday, about 2-3 hours per day.

That was it. I wasn’t so much prioritizing the writing as I was prioritizing an ideal. A theme I strongly believed in. For me, it was easy enough to prioritize something I believed in. At that time in my life I was an avid activist, and much of my passion for equality was strong enough to get me to write.

In order for me to prioritize the writing, it needed to be about something bigger. It needed to be about a bigger picture contribution, rather than me prioritizing myself. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked until I did the inner work to make myself more of a priority.

A quick mention on the inner work: therapy, lots of therapy. And spiritual work. Meditation. Silent retreats. You name it, I probably did it. Eventually, it all led to me feeling worthy enough to prioritize myself.

Let’s talk about the “P” word…

How do I prioritize my writing? Two very important things:

1. Boundaries: I had to start setting boundaries. First, with myself. I had to feel out what were going to be the best times of the week/day to write, given my circumstances. And then I had to do the hard work of setting those boundaries with others (no one gets my Sundays. Those are writing days).
2. Scheduling it in: If I don’t schedule writing into my calendar, it does not happen. I live and die by my calendar. It tells me where to be, and when. If it’s 9AM on a Tuesday and the calendar says, “write”, I write. Maybe I’m obedient, but it works for me. It removes guess work and indecision and creates a work schedule. When it’s in my calendar, I take it more seriously.

These days, I write anywhere from 3-5 hours per week. This depends on my fluctuating work schedule, but because I have learned how to prioritize myself, I’ve found more time in my week to write, without it feeling overwhelming. I write a few hours on Sundays, and on weekdays I can sometimes get in a few extra hours. More than ever before, and because I figured out how to prioritize.

Free Prioritization Worksheet:

I put this worksheet together for anyone struggling to prioritize their writing. I introduced a similar process in my New Year’s Resolution article back in January, which you can read, here.

In response to feedback from that article, I created a Start Where You Are Prioritization Reset for Writers worksheet that you can download, for free, if you want some help with prioritizing your own writing. (Just put $0 for the amount, to get it for free).

What I love about this worksheet is that it is a simple list of questions (2 pages) designed to help you get quiet and listen to yourself. It is designed for self-reflection. It is not advice. It is not another “how to”. You have all the answers you need, within. So take the time and sit down and listen. Maybe this can help you get clear so that you can prioritize your own work.

Thanks for reading.

Jay

Jay VanLandingham is a guest contributor and author of the Sentient eco-dystopian trilogy. You can learn more at his website, www.jayvanlandingham.com

What I learned about myself while writing my fourth novel.

Like many of us, I’ve experienced a life-long struggle with feelings of low self-worth. A core belief of, “not good enough”, as my therapist and I like to call it.

In the last year, I’ve been actively engaged in EMDR sessions to heal the trauma I experienced as a child, in relation to negative experiences I had with my father (now deceased, rest in peace).

Unbeknownst to me and despite decades of therapy, this trauma had been impacting the way I show up for my writing. And I want to succeed at my writing as much as I want to succeed at building and maintaining relationships.

I mention the trauma and the healing work because I believe it helped me make better choices in writing the first draft of my fourth novel.

Not that there is anything inherently “wrong” with my first three books. I don’t believe there is. It was the process of writing that I now see as vastly different compared to the experience I had with this novel.

In writing my first three novels, I rushed the process. I feared being intimate with the work. I struggled to sit with the feelings involved. I don’t shame myself for this. It was what I knew at the time.

That core belief of “not good enough” manifested as a heightened, urgent desire to “hurry up” and “get it over with”. Much of my trauma centered around not feeling heard. Not feeling seen. Not being understood and known as my true, authentic self. Looking back now, I see how I projected that trauma of not being seen onto my own writing. Writing stories was always my number one way of expressing myself. Of showing myself who I am, and then showing it to others.

Vulnerability.

And sitting down to take my time to write was way too frightening. Rushing the process to get the books done and get them out into the world, that was a form of self-sabotage. Because I did not find myself worthy enough to give the one thing I loved most in life any time of day.

Because I did not feel worthy, my writing could not feel worthy.

What changed…

As I began to heal, I wanted better for myself. I started attending writer’s groups and connecting with other writers so I’d feel less isolated. I decided to write a story that is deeply personal to me, and that helped me process my own grief, and provided catharsis.

I started being kinder to myself.

When I got involved in a local critique group, I emboldened myself to start submitting early drafts of my work each week. In the beginning, the work wasn’t that strong. I decided to write literary fiction, and in a minimalist prose. Something I had no familiarity with.

I started taking risks.

As time progressed, the feedback I received from the group improved exponentially. At one point, a group member had told me that in all his twenty years of being in this group, he had never seen anyone improve “so vastly in such a short amount of time”. That was the healing happening. That was the trauma, being addressed week by week as I worked diligently on my novel. When group members gave me advice, I took most of it. I read a number of similar, minimalist prose books so I could learn.

I opened myself to the process.

My writing process shifted. In the past, I used to write the first draft of a novel from beginning to end before revising. I’m not saying this is bad. What I found that helped me to slow down and sit with the writing was to write the first draft of a chapter, type it up, and revise it right then and there, before moving on to the next chapter.

I started listening to myself.

I realized that I preferred the editing and revising process over writing a first draft. It was in those quiet moments, sitting at my laptop and seeing the chapter on the screen, where I began to learn how to focus. I took what I knew about my ADHD and instead of trying to force myself to work differently, I worked with what I had. I learned that when I practiced mindfulness, sitting with each sentence and each paragraph and feeling out the best word and best description, my writing became stronger.

I began to believe in myself.

Eventually, this process became so natural for me that I was able to complete strong drafts in shorter amounts of time. Early on, I set an expectation that I would not rush this book. That I would give it a number of years, if that was what it took. I quieted the external world by reducing social media input, and I sat and I worked. What resulted was a beautiful, surrendering process. A letting go and trusting that the right words and right next steps would reveal themselves if I just took the time to sit and be with the writing.

I began to let go.

As I came to the end of the novel, I hit a few snags. Some of those old thought patterns of, “not good enough” began to arise. I fumbled with the climax, fearing I would not get it right. Fearing it was not good enough and that I’d messed the whole thing up, which meant the ending chapters would be ineffective and that I’d failed.

Perfectionism set in.

And I chose not to fight it. As a Taoist, I like to encourage myself to embrace what arises, and to be curious about it. Perfectionism is there for a reason. For me, it’s a signal. It’s my inner child and/or my body trying to get my attention. It isn’t something to be pushed against or pushed away. It’s there. It’s a part of me.

I began to accept myself more.

It may seem like a paradox, but it’s been my experience that those things in life that I am most insecure about, or that I struggle with, such as a fear of intimacy or a fear of “not good enough”, are actually misalignments. It’s my brain not being able to see what my body already knows is true:

I am perfect already. I just need to see it and find ways to accept my perfectionism. I am that which my ego fears.

And so I consoled myself. I got quiet and reminded myself that nothing about my book has to be perfect because it is already perfect. It is already perfect because it is good enough. And for someone like me, who’s had a lifelong history of struggles with feeling “good enough”, good enough is far greater than perfect.

I finished the novel and I let it be. It’ll be critiqued by other writers soon enough, and their feedback and my own revision process will allow for uncovering what needs remedied.

So anytime you might be feeling down about your work or yourself, maybe keep in mind that your body already knows what is true about you, which is that you are perfection because you are here and you are human and you are of value. Nothing in life makes you perfect.

It is you being you that brings perfection to life. Not the other way around.

Thanks for reading.

Jay VanLandingham

Author

Guest Blogger

www.jayvanlandingham.com

“How are sales going?”

That’s the dreaded question.

If you’re an indie author like me who is only at the beginning of your indie author journey, this question can be a real stinger.

Especially if you’ve only published a few books.

I began my indie publishing journey in 2022 with the first book in my dystopian trilogy, Sentient.

My second book, Sentient Rising in 2023.

And my most recent title, Sentient Being, in 2025.

For some reason, the barometer for success is in the numbers. Family and friends want to know if I am succeeding, and the way they tell is by the number of books I’ve sold.

“How are sales going?”

I never know how to answer this question.

Honestly:

I’ve sold under 500 copies of Sentient.

Even less of Sentient Rising.

And even less of Sentient Being.

And I am not failing.

What if I told you that there is a better way to look at book sales?

Sales are People, Not Numbers

Think about it.

When someone decides to purchase your book, they are not just giving you their hard earned cash.

They are giving you their hopes, their expectations. Maybe a dream they themselves have to do something similar.

They are making a statement. They are saying, “hey, I think I might like what you created. And I believe this so much, I am going to purchase a copy and take the time to read it.”

This isn’t a numbers game.

This is a connection game.

When someone buys a copy of your book, they are making a connection.

With you.

Sure, they want the characters and the action and the drama and the story. But you’re the one who created that experience for them.

Don’t ever forget what you created and its value.

Money is nice. It will help us succeed in a world driven by capitalism.

But next time you get bogged down by the numbers, try this:

Remind yourself: each book sale is a person.

Add the time that person took to research your book. Then, add the time they gave you by making that purchase, whether online or at an event. Add the thought that went into making each step. Add the willingness to take a chance (and a good chance, because your book is awesome, remember?). Add the reading time, the space the book takes up in someone’s home or on someone’s digital tablet.

Multiply this by the number of people they may decide to share your book with.

Each of these things has value. And how do you measure that value?

You can’t.

Why?

Because each book sale is priceless.

How Are Book Sales Going?

Next time someone asks you how book sales are going, consider the connection, the value, of each sale you made. Not the number. But the person. The human being behind the sale.

Then you’ll have your answer.

And you can tell them sales are amazing. That you’re making so much you don’t know what to do with yourself. Let them all know that your book sales are priceless because it’s true.

Feel free to leave a comment, let me know what your experience has been with book sales.

Thanks for reading,

Jay.

Guest blogger Jay VanLandingham is a local author, writing both dystopian and literary fiction genres. You can check out his work here.

Why Every Story—and Every Soul—Needs Space to Breathe

It’s official: I’m halfway through the first part of the first draft of my novel.

For the past five months, I’ve spent every week writing chapters, revising them, and submitting them to my Thursday night critique group. I developed a routine—and fell in love with the book.

The process felt like being on a train moving down the track with great purpose. Fueled by momentum, I didn’t want to stop. But once I completed the last chapter of Part One (this novel has two parts), I found it hard to slow the train.

But I knew I had to.

I had to pause, set the writing aside, and give it time to breathe—to simmer on the back burner. To distance myself from any attachment to the outcome.

Let me tell you why.

The Importance of the Pause

We meditate to get still. We go out in nature to get away from the noise of daily life. In the quiet, we hear ourselves think. We reconnect with our intuition.

The creative process is no different.

Stephen King famously puts his first drafts away for six weeks before revising. He works on something else in the meantime, giving his mind the chance to reset. That distance builds perspective.

I think about how often I’ve had to do the same in life—step away from a situation to see it clearly. The more emotionally attached I am, whether to a story, a relationship, or a decision, the more distance I need in order to gain perspective.

Thanks to the Hamilton County Public Library’s affordable printing services, I printed my manuscript and tucked it away in an old file cabinet.

And now, I wait.

Sort of.

I knew that if I didn’t give myself other projects, I’d go marching right back to the manuscript. My goal is to leave it untouched for a month—out of sight, out of mind.

In the meantime, I’m happily returning to my Middle Grade series, Animals of Justice (more on that in the future).

Jay’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Do Not Rush the Sacred

In today’s world, there’s constant pressure to produce—quickly and often. For authors, that can look like rushing a book to publication to keep up with expectations. But slowing down is not only valuable—it’s an act of defiance.

To slow down is to honor the process. It’s a message to the Muse, to the Universe, that the work is sacred and deserves to unfold in its own time. When we make that choice, we remind ourselves—and the world—that it’s the art that matters most, not the speed of its production.

Rushing the sacred rarely produces the best results. Authenticity and truth can’t be forced.

Good art needs time. Stories need time. Like plants, animals, and humans, our creations need space to find their purpose.

No one gets to decide how long the creative process should take—not even me.

As much as I’d love to hurry up and share this book with you—because I love it, because it feels so relevant—I know that to do so would rob it of its gestation period. It would feel unnatural.

There’s a difference between what the mind wants and what the soul needs. Creativity comes from the soul, and the soul seeks stillness to feel safe enough to grow.

Our stories need that too.

It’s incredible what beauty and discovery can emerge from waiting—from stepping back and allowing perspective to form. Only through detachment can we truly see our work. That clarity is what revision requires.

In revision, we become both reader and editor. Discernment can’t happen when we’re charging ahead at full speed.

Stop. Pause. Reflect.

In time, the story, the art, the relationship, or that decision will reveal itself. All it needs is space—and time—to become what it’s meant to be.

Jay’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Reflection

What in your life are you trying to rush?

What could benefit from a little detachment?

---

Feel free to leave a comment and stay connected!

Blog written by guest blogger, Jay VanLandingham

You can learn more and follow Jay at his website, here.

Reflections on Community, Courage, and the Unexpected Magic of Showing Up

By Guest Contributor, Jay VanLandingham.

“A rising tide lifts all boats.”
-John F. Kennedy

Imaginarium Convention 2025:
Let me tell you a story about my first writer’s convention. The Imaginarium Convention, which
takes place every third weekend in July in Louisville, KY:

DAY ONE
I arrived at the Holiday Inn on Thursday evening after a two-hour drive from Cincinnati. As soon as I walked in, the rows of tables dressed in black cloth greeted me. I was excited to discover that my table was the very first one people encountered as they entered (or exited) the hotel.
A man at the booth beside me was in the process of setting up. He introduced himself immediately and told me this was “prime real estate” for our booths. We became instant friends.

DAY TWO
The convention officially began at noon on Friday. I had two hours to network and get acclimated before my scheduled workshop. The grand hallway was lined with tables and elaborate decor: steampunk, book displays, creepy clowns, and plenty of cosplay.
This convention had it all—writers, a film festival, cosplay contests, workshops, panels, and awards. Having never been immersed in the cosplay community, I found it welcoming, open, generous, and full of enigmatic people who could express themselves freely.
I was in my element.

I came to this convention with the intention of networking and making new friends. It wasn’t about selling books—it was about
relationship and community. Writing is an insular experience. And the life of an author can be isolating. Community support is vital to the success of an author, especially for those of us who hope to flourish in this career over the long run. I was pleased to discover that my booth neighbors were queer allies. In my experience, the writing community tends to lean liberal, and these spaces are often queer-friendly. There’s nothing quite as joyful as seeing others in their element—whether dressed head-to-toe in steampunk garb, wearing elven ears, or donning elaborate period costumes. I’d never been part of something quite like this, and this is where the gratitude began.

This was a weekend of firsts. I gave a workshop titled Writing for Change: Weaving Social Justice into Fiction with Care and Impact. I had a wonderful time talking with participants about writing stories that tackle social justice issues—without becoming preachy. Again, I was in my
element.

Immediately after the workshop, someone approached me and said they had worked at Farm Sanctuary and were “good friends” with Gene Baur. Another participant owned a publishing company. His wife ended up buying the entire Sentient series for her son-in-law—serendipitously, he had asked for eco-dystopian fiction for Christmas. And he’s also vegan.

Connection is everything.
Later, I sat in on a panel about literary fiction. Honestly, I didn’t feel particularly confident walking in. I’ve written literary fiction—mostly shorter works. Literary fiction was my entry point into writing, twenty years ago during my undergrad at NKU. But the other writers, along with the panel moderator, were kind and down-to-earth. I felt comfortable chiming in and speaking about what I know best—metaphor. By the end of the day, I was having dinner with author friends at a delicious Ethiopian restaurant in Louisville.

Being surrounded by other writers felt like being home. I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe it’s the community that’s been cultivated over the twelve years since Imaginarium’s inception, but as one writer put it: “This conference is like family.” You could feel that energy in the room. It was palpable. The more I immersed myself in the weekend, the deeper the kinship I felt—akin to the connection I experience in queer and vegan spaces. A sense that “we are all in this together.”

Non-competitive. Collaborative. Supportive. Generous.

DAY THREE
By Saturday, I felt as much a part of the family as one can after just a few days among strangers. I spent the day chatting with my booth neighbors, who I discovered were members of the Disciples of Christ church. (ASIDE: I belonged to the Disciples of Christ for about twenty
years—and my mom still does.) I enjoyed the costumes, the networking, and the conversations that seemed random—but
weren’t. I sold a few books. And because I felt so comfortable—because the community had created this sense that I could do just about anything—I decided, on a whim, to participate in a “Pitch to an Agent” workshop.

Yep. That’s right. I pitched my new novel to an agent.

In all my years of dreaming about being an author, one of those dreams included the experience of having an agent. Not for accolades or ego, per se, but for the pure human experience of being a writer who is agented. I get one life on this earth—as a human, anyway—and I want to
experience as much as I can. Pitching to an agent isn’t an opportunity many writers have, let alone take. The agent liked my story idea—but with a caveat. She suggested changes that would have fundamentally altered the vision I have for the novel, and not in a way I could embrace. Simply
put, we weren’t a fit. She looked at me and asked, honestly, if I could see myself making those changes. I told her I couldn’t. She respected that. She reminded me—rightly—that I’m the author, and that staying true to the story must come first. She gave me her contact info in case I ever change my mind, and I genuinely appreciated the opportunity. If I do decide to pursue an agent, I trust the right one will emerge.

DAY FOUR
Here I sit, at 1pm on Sunday, as the convention gradually winds down. A generous, burly writer who refers to himself as “Viking” offers me a free copy of his book. We had spoken the day before while waiting to pitch to the agent. I found him to be a sweet spirit, and his gift was more
than welcome. A workshop attendee stops by and purchases the trilogy. I sign them for her. People come and go, packing up, making their final rounds. My friendly neighbors are gone, and I admit—I miss them. A gentle reminder of how lonely the writing life, or any creative pursuit, can sometimes feel.

Later, another participant from my workshop stops by. She’s in full cosplay: elven ears, a flowing dress. She thanks me, says the workshop was very “relevant.” Everyone has been so kind. Being located by the front door means I get to see everyone as they come and go. Most wave,
say hello or goodbye. Some know me by name.

It feels intimate. Open. I feel comfortable.

Stronger Together.
It’s Wednesday. I’m sitting here editing this article, still riding the wave of the convention. Making connections. Following new author friends on social and Substack. I feel at ease. A strong sense of connection, even while being out here on my own. I think of how newly planted trees settle—how their roots dig in, searching and stretching into new soil. That’s how I feel. Rooted.

This is the beginning of a new writing community. One where I can give and receive support.

Go find your community. It’s out there, waiting for you.

Jay VanLandingham is the author of the Sentient Dystopian/YA trilogy, and other works. You can
follow Jay on Instagram, Substack, or via his website at www.jayvanlandingham.com