Why Can't I Finish This?

I’ve been putting off finishing my next book.

It’s ready for a final edit, but I keep finding more important things to do. I keep telling myself I don’t quite have the time yet, that I’m a bit tired or groggy, that I’ll do it better a bit later/tomorrow/next week.

This might be familiar to some of you. You’re on the home stretch, you can see the finish line – yet you’re putting off that final sprint. As a coach working with creatives, I see it a lot with my clients.

“The album is nearly there – it just needs one more big track.”

“I’m almost ready to show this work to my gallery. Just a few more tweaks.”

“I’m just doing a bit more research.”

So why can’t we finish?

We started strong. We waded through the messy middle, the hardest and loneliest part of any creative project. And now we’re almost at the end. Yet we can’t seem to make that final push.

Here are some of the things that might be holding you back – and some strategies to deal with them.

1. It’s not perfect

We hold ourselves to unbearably high standards. For many creatives, it’s our great taste that gets in the way. We’re comparing ourselves to the greatest work of the greatest in our field, and finding ourselves lacking.

As a recovering perfectionist myself, all I can say is, the more you make, the better you get. And the only way you’ll make more is to let go of this one. Done really is better than perfect.

And your imperfect work might be just what someone needs to see, read, hear right now. Who are you to deny it them?

2. Fear is in the driving seat

The Fear is always there. Fear it’s not good enough. Fear that people won’t like it. Fear that you’ll make a fool of yourself. Fear is a constant companion when you’re making creative work, and there’s no escaping it. You either give in to it, or you work with it.

It can help to write your fears down, and interrogate them. To see if they are really true. See if you can also think of at least three things that could happen if you finish. And think about how you’ll feel, in 10, 20, 30 years, the regrets you will have if you don’t take a risk and put it out there.

It can also help to write a letter to your fear. For inspiration, here’s one by Elizabeth Gilbert, in her excellent book on creativity, Big Magic:

“Dearest Fear:

Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that you take your job seriously. Apparently, your job is to induce complete panic whenever I’m about to do anything interesting – and, may I say, you are superb at your job.

So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There is plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decision along the way.

I recognise and respect that you are part of the family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still – your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the road maps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours. … But above all else, my dear all familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.”

3. You’re over-complicating it (again)

If creatives in all fields share one trait, it’s this: our tendency to over-complicate everything. In many ways, it’s our super-power. Our imaginations grow things, embellish them, turn a simple task into an epic quest.

But sometimes, that client really doesn’t want a book, a palace, a ballgown. They just want the article they commissioned, a shed, a plain black cocktail dress.

There’s nothing stopping you making the bigger, better version later. But it can be helpful to ask what the simplest possible version of this project would be. The easiest way to satisfy both the client and yourself. And then do that.

4. No one is waiting for what you’ve made

It can be hard letting go of a project when we don’t know it will find an audience. For many of us, there are no eager fans waiting. No advance orders. Once I’ve finished my book, for instance, I’ll publish it. Then there will be promotion to do. I’ve got more skilful at that, but it’s still quite new to me, and not at all comfortable.

I have a client at the moment who has the kind of support many authors dream of: he has an agent, and a publisher waiting for his book. But you’d be surprised how little support that really is. No one checks in on what he’s doing, from month to month. The deadlines are vague, and he’s often tempted by commissions from magazines and newspapers. Here, an editor really does need your copy at the end of the day. Your words are published soon after, and then you get paid.

The cure for is to create your own deadlines and milestones (with a buddy or coach to keep you accountable, if needs be). Then just block out some distraction-free time and finish. And remember that whatever you’re making, and no matter how small or non-existent your audience yet, someone really important is waiting for it: you.

5. Not knowing your next steps

Maybe you’re that one exceptional human who can multitask. Who can finish your book while searching for an agent; who can record new songs while discussing album artwork and tour dates; who can sell your work to retailers even though even you’ve only made a few rough samples.

More likely, you’re kidding yourself, and engaging in busywork. You’re time-travelling into the future, rather than focussing on your present task, which is finishing. Even if you do find the perfect agent, manager, gallery, or retail outlet, there’s little point if you have nothing to show them.

The cure: stay in the here and now. Get your project done. Then work out what to do with it, and look for the people, the information, the tools you need to get your work out there. They’ll be easier to find, when you’re ready and actually have something to show or sell.

6. It’s all got far too serious

You started this project playfully, and full of joy. But somewhere along the line, it all became big and heavy, important and joyless. You’re loading it with far too many expectations. This project needs to change your life. More, it needs to change the lives of everyone who reads it, hears it, sees it, wears it, uses it. It needs to earn lots of money, make you famous, turn your career in a new direction.

Lighten up. Find your joy and play again. If you’re stuck, brainstorm solutions. Come up with ten ideas a day, every day for a week. Write them all down: the absurd ones, the impossible ones, the ones that make you laugh out loud and the ones that are boring and the ones that are utterly stupid. Go on a play date (or three). Stop pushing, and trust that the solution will come, if you keep turning up to do the work playfully, and full of curiosity.

7. There really is something missing

Underneath that chorus of critical voices in your head – the fear and doubt – there’s another, quieter, kinder voice. Tune into it, and see what it’s saying. Journal. Meditate. Go for a walk. Do whatever tunes you in to that deep, inner knowing.

For me it was this: the book cover is all wrong. I need to get a new one designed.

There’s also something missing in the tone. A lightness, a humour, the voice I know and recognise in my best writing. I wrote most of this book early in the mornings, before a full day of other work. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But now I need some clear time when I’m focussed on nothing else, just to make the whole thing flow better. To make it feel more… me.

So I’ve commissioned a new cover. And I’ve blocked out a month to do nothing but edit and rewrite. This time, I’m sure I’ll finish.