This year we’ve been talking about drafting a novel. The process of moving from idea to finished first draft isn’t JUST about getting your story on the page. It’s also about growing in your discipline and your craft. It’s about planting the seeds of endurance and effort. It’s about understanding that with time and consistency, with attention to your fledgling effort, you can take this story idea and use it as a stepping stone to grow from hopeful writer to an author with a completed book.

It’s the completion part I want to talk to you about today. Not the craft of completing a project. We’ve done enough of that this year. Today, I want to talk to you about the internal fortitude it takes to get done, as well as the physical and emotional toll it can take on you.

The barefaced truth is that I will likely never finish a project without a deadline. But my agent is not interested in reading my first effort. Nor is my editor. They want to read something with a bit of polish and the rough edges worn down. The deadlines they give me assume I’ve worked with my own beta readers and edited some on my own.

Which means I have to give myself deadlines. Deadlines for my first draft and deadlines for my own personal edits. And I’m good with that. I’m good on a deadline. I hit them. Almost always. If I see a finish line ahead, I will work hard to get there.

But it takes its toll.

I can’t speak for every writer, so mostly I want to tell you what it looks like for me and open a discussion about what it looks like for you. And if you haven’t reached this stage yet, to help you understand that work–any kind of work–has great benefits, but it also has consequences.

For me, the final push to hit a deadline (self-imposed or otherwise) is this heady, thrilling, exhausting, obstacle course that is both necessary and daunting. The farther I get into any project, the more invested I am. Which means that anything that seeks to derail me or set me back feels like a personal affront, and my adrenaline rises to combat it.

The challenge is that the closer the deadline gets, the more time itself feels like an enemy. Which makes me write faster (good!), and also refuses to let me rest (bad!).

The outworking of all this is that by the time I cross the finish line, I’ve often developed a handful of debilitating complaints:

• Inability to sit still
• Ultra-real dreams that keep me from resting
• Neck and back pain
• Eye twitch
• Eye fatigue
• Difficulty focusing on other projects

Each of us have unique physical and emotional make-ups, but every author I know deals with some sort of consequence after a long, hard push. Sometimes it’s physiological and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s the result of sitting long hours in a chair staring at a screen. Sometimes it’s because when you’re writing that hard and that fast, you’re not focusing on other aspects of your life. Sometimes it’s because the necessary commitment to finish your project requires everything your mind and body have to offer.

Regardless, for most of us, crossing the finish line means it’s time to take a break and let our bodies and our minds find balance and normal rhythm again.

It’s a lot like those cross-country skiers you see in the Olympics. If you haven’t watched them finish a race, you’re missing out. It’s such a spectacle! One-by-one they cross the line and then bam! One-by-one they collapse, until there are dozens and dozens of racers still strapped to their skis and laying on the hard-packed snow. They put it all on the line, every ounce of what they have, and now, they simply have nothing left. Their bodies, minds, and spirits must recover.

This is also a good time to evaluate any adjustments you can make to your process so that the toll is not so harsh next time. Over the centuries, creatives have consistently paid a physical and emotional price to produce art, but not all of it is necessary and not all of it is healthy.

Things I’ve learned to do to ease the cost on my body and my relationships:

• I walk. A lot. Treadmill or circles in my court. When I can, I go hiking or adventuring. Good for my health and good for my outdoor-loving soul.
• I try to stick to a weekly writing schedule. Not always possible when I’m approaching a deadline, but the effort has kept me connected to my loved ones, and ensured I don’t have more work than I can handle as I near the end.
• I allow myself to bump a self-imposed deadline if it’s costing me too much. If my health or my relationships are suffering, I’ll move my deadline. Finishing is not the most important thing.
• I stay involved in communities and events outside of writing. If writing becomes my everything, my stories, my health, and my personal life suffer.
• I keep in touch with other writing friends. There are very few people who will understand my drive to tell a story and my desire to have it matter. My writing friends keep me sane and remind me that even when I’m working alone in my cave, I’m not really alone.

I’ve been writing for publication for a decade now, and I’ve learned that my mind needs a deadline, and my body needs the adrenaline rush of a final push. You may find that what you need in order to reach the end is entirely different, but my hope is that whatever toll it takes on you, you’ll find ways to mitigate that and to continually refine your process. Sacrificing relationships and your health, losing your peace of mind as you fight for the finish line, isn’t wise and it isn’t a sustainable way to build a career.

How about you? Has the creative life cost you anything just yet? Do you worry that it will? What kinds of things do you do to lessen the toll on your mind, body, and soul?