Talk to a hundred writers and 75% of them will say they “don’t do math.” The other 40% only think they can.

And no, the math isn’t mathing.

It often shows up in a person’s understanding of a core truth for writers: capacity counts. Capacity counts more than math.

If you’re still reading, thank you for not bailing after the first paragraph. It’s an important topic that deserves more than a nanosecond of attention. How many nanoseconds in a second?* Doesn’t matter. Well, it does, but not here.

Or does it?

Is this question posted near your calendar, as your phone wallpaper, or near your keyboard?

Do I have the capacity?

If not, you may be missing one of the most important questions a writer can ask. And it doesn’t start when you open your document. It starts when you decide to pursue writing toward publication. And it should never stop being asked.

It’s not “Am I too busy?” or “Do I have the time?” It plunges into deeper questions than those.

• Am I able to consistently keep my deadline promises? (Even self-imposed deadlines? Ouch!)
• What am I willing to set aside in the pursuit of publication? (For most writers, it is an exchange rather than an add-on.)
• Do I see every opportunity as an entity with my name on it? (Some would call that desperate rather than eager.)
• Can I navigate the temptation to commit beyond capacity? (Who is your accountability partner to keep you and your projects afloat?)
• If I cannot get that synopsis written, that hook figured out, that proposal finished, those edits done, what makes me think I’ll suddenly be adept at completing tasks like those and more if I receive a contract? (Writers not yet under contract are developing patterns for their follow-through capacity in the future.)
• Am I often repeating the phrase “When things slow down” in my excuses to myself and others? (You may wait a lifetime for that mysterious, magical, elusive “slow down” season. Do you have the capacity to find time if nothing changes? Is this possibly a season where it is unwise to risk what little capacity you have?)
• Do I assume that the capacity of another writer ought to be my goal? (A doomed pursuit. Your capacity is unique to you.)
• Can I afford to start plotting my next book when my due date for the current book is looming? (Strong temptation. Allow yourself ten minutes to jot down the concept, but then turn your attention to the priority that deserves it.)
• Do I have the emotional capacity to endure what writing for publication throws at me? (You may know someone who is well suited to write, to minister one on one to others, but who would suffer under the weight of publishing’s expectations.)
• Did I give up the concept of rest in my quest for publication? (Are your books then squeezed out of an empty tube or do they emerge from the overflow of a stable, healthy, rested heart?)
• Is my life full and enriched or empty and pinched by my writing life? (If asked and answered honestly, this question alone may shift some priorities.)

The decision to write for publication is inherently signing up for a quest that is hard and costly. No one pretends it isn’t. It can be enormously rewarding. Handled well, it can be a life-changing experience for both writer and reader. A joy-producer. A faith-builder.

And this is also true. Capacity counts more than math.

If you haven’t taken a brutality honest look at your capacity lately, do give it consideration.

 

*There are 1,000,000,000 nanoseconds in a second. Handle with prayer.