Samantha Mullins's Blog - Posts Tagged "writerburnout"
Down for Maintenance: Taking a Break from Writing (and Editing… and More Editing)
You ever edit something so many times that you start questioning if words are even real?
Because same.
My brain has officially filed for workers’ comp and slapped a sticky note on my forehead that says “Down for Maintenance.” I’ve gone through so many rounds of editing Heaven’s Keys that by the end I was like, “You know what? Let’s just publish it before I try to rewrite the entire plot out of sheer panic.”
And now here I am, knee-deep in the first draft of Under Darkness, staring at blinking cursors and wondering if the word “the” is pulling its weight.
I’m not just tired. I’m the kind of mentally-fried where even my beloved K-dramas, C-dramas, and J-dramas are like, “Sis, we love you—but we can’t help you right now.” The plot twists don’t twist. The slow burns aren’t burning. And don’t even get me started on trying to follow subtitles when my eyes are basically buffering.
So guess what? I’m taking a break. A real one. One where I game with friends, reread the Iron Fey series because it still hits, and maybe–maybe—finally crack open the rest of Julie Kagawa’s books that are currently chilling on my TBR list like forgotten digital fossils.
Oh, and don’t be surprised if I spiral back into the gloriously messy world of the After series too. Judge me if you must. It’s toxic. It’s chaotic. It’s juicy.
If you’ve been stuck in an editing spiral, dragging your brain behind you like a half-dead houseplant—this one’s for you. You’re not lazy. You’re not giving up. You’re just overdue for a reboot.
And in this article, you’ll get:
Permission to stop (without guilt)
A laugh or three at how ridiculous burnout can be
A reminder that resting isn’t quitting—it’s literally how you keep going
Let’s get into it. After a snack. And a nap. Obviously.
Editing: The Endless Loop of Despair
Here’s how it starts: you write a sentence. You reread the sentence. You change a word. You stare at it. You change it back. You delete the whole thing. You write it again, slightly worse. Repeat until you either cry or close your laptop and walk away dramatically, like you’re in a writer-themed soap opera.
Editing, in theory, is supposed to polish your work. But sometimes? It just feels like slow creative erosion. Like you’re standing at the beach with a sandcastle of a story and every pass of edits is another wave slowly stealing chunks of it away.
Heaven’s Keys? That one’s been through the emotional equivalent of a telenovela. Multiple drafts. Endless tweaking. A few dark nights of the soul. And now that it’s finally published, your brain’s like, “Cool cool cool. Let’s jump into Under Darkness like nothing happened.”
Except—your brain has nothing left to give.
That’s the danger of the loop. You go from writing to editing to rewriting to doubting to obsessing to questioning if you’ve somehow forgotten how to string sentences together entirely. It’s like playing a game where the rules change every round and somehow you’re always losing.
And the wild part? No one talks about how exhausting that is.
People talk about writer’s block like it’s the only demon in the room. But editing fatigue? That sneaky gremlin that wears you down quietly until your ideas sound like elevator music? Yeah. That’s the one that gets you.
So if you’re stuck in that loop, feeling like every edit is just draining more of your soul–same.
And spoiler: it’s not weakness. It’s not laziness. It’s your brain saying,
“Hey, maybe let’s not run this creative engine into the ground.”
Next up?
We’re gonna talk about the true sign you need a break: when not even your comfort shows can save you.
Let me know if you want to tweak this section or if you’re ready for Section 2: When Even Your Favourite Dramas Can’t Save You.
When Even Your Favourite Dramas Can’t Save You
You know you’re cooked when even your holy trinity–Netflix, Viki, and YouTube—start feeling like background noise.
Normally, these shows are your lifeline. Your escape. Your emotional support chaos. You live for the love triangles, the dramatic stares, the slow-mo rain scenes, and the moment someone clutches their chest dramatically as they realise they’ve been in love this whole time. Chef’s kiss.
But lately? Nothing. You’re sitting there like a zombie, subtitles flying across the screen while your brain stares into the void. Plot twists that would normally have you gasping just get a blank blink. Your eyes are watching, but your soul has left the group chat.
That’s not just “meh” energy. That’s burnout.
When even your go-to joy sources start feeling like static, it’s your brain pulling the emergency brake.
It’s saying, “Hey bestie, love you, but I need a full system reboot, not another emotional rollercoaster with a broody CEO and an enemies-to-lovers arc.”
This is the point where you know it’s not just about writing anymore. You’re tired on a deeper level.
The kind of tired that Netflix, Viki, and YouTube can’t fix. The kind of tired that means it’s time to actually unplug.
And no, you don’t need to earn that break by being productive first. You don’t need to hit a word count, or finish a chapter, or edit “just one more scene.”
You just need to stop. Because when even your dramas can’t revive you, it’s not about entertainment anymore—it’s about recovery.
Next up?
How to actually take that break without spiralling into guilt (and yes, lying face down on the carpet absolutely counts).
Let me know when you’re ready for Section 3: The Sacred Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing (Without Feeling Guilty). 😌🛋️
The Sacred Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing (Without Feeling Guilty)
Doing nothing is an art form. A sacred ritual. A spiritual experience.
And yet… somehow also the one thing that makes us feel like absolute garbage if we’re not doing it ironically with a self-care candle and a productivity podcast playing in the background.
But hear me out: if your brain feels like it’s made of half-melted cheese and your eyeballs are staging a quiet protest every time you open a document, it’s time to flop.
And I mean full flop.
No partial flop.
No sneaky side quests.
No “I’ll just jot down a little plot note while I rest” nonsense.
We’re talking:
Horizontal. On the couch. Possibly in a blanket burrito.
Dead-eyed scrolling through TikTok for an hour and forgetting everything you just watched.
Staring at your TBR list like it personally betrayed you.
Mentally preparing to rest for so long you get tired from the idea of resting.
And of course, the guilt goblin shows up. Loudly. With notes.
“You should be working.”
“You’re falling behind.”
“Stephen King writes every day, you know.”
Shut up, Greg. (No offense to any Gregs out there)
You are not Stephen King.
You are a beautiful, exhausted little creative gremlin who has been doing the most and now deserves to do the least.
Real talk: your brain is not a 24/7 idea factory.
It is a fragile meat sponge that needs snacks, hydration, and silence.
Also, fun fact: doing nothing? Still doing something.
You’re recharging. You’re processing. You’re letting your brain stop sounding like a dial-up modem.
So if you find yourself lying face-down on the floor wondering whether you’re broken—you’re not.
You’re just buffering.
Next up?
Let’s talk about the true healing powers of rereading old favourites, screaming about fictional men in toxic relationships, and absolutely wrecking your friends in co-op games.
Ready for Section 4: Rereads, Rage-Reads, and Multiplayer Mayhem? 💅📖🎮
Rereads, Rage-Reads, and Multiplayer Mayhem
So, you’re taking a break. You’ve flopped. You’ve stared at the ceiling. You’ve eaten snacks you don’t even remember opening.
Now comes the recovery phase: feeding your brain the good stuff.
Let’s start with rereads.
There is nothing like returning to a book that still hits like it did the first time.
For me? That’s Julie Kagawa’s Iron Fey series. Every. Time.
I know what’s coming. I’ve read it before. Doesn’t matter. Still dramatic. Still magical. Still makes me want to stab someone with a fae blade and emotionally recover in a mushroom circle.
And sure, she’s got other series sitting on my TBR, just vibing, collecting digital dust like forgotten treasure.
Will I read them? Eventually.
But right now, I’m emotionally committed to my comfort chaos.
Then there’s the After series. Look.
It’s toxic. It’s wild. It’s like watching a beautifully dressed car crash in slow motion. But it’s also addictive and full of that “I can’t believe they just said that” energy that keeps you reading way past your bedtime.
Sometimes, you just need a little emotional damage to feel alive again. No shame.
And when the words aren’t hitting and even your favourite book boyfriends are like, “Not today, babe,”?
That’s when it’s time to enter full gamer goblin mode.
Enter: SCUM.
You haven’t lived until you’ve logged into SCUM with your friends, only to die within 60 seconds because someone forgot to say, “Hey, there’s a puppet right there.” Survival mode activated.
Suddenly, you’re looting bunkers, dodging robots, hunting deer like it’s your job, and arguing over whose turn it is to build the damn base.
It’s chaotic. It’s hilarious. And most importantly—it has nothing to do with writing.
And that’s the point.
This is your creative CPR:
Reread something that still slaps.
Rage-read something gloriously dramatic.
Get eaten by a puppet in SCUM and laugh about it with your friends.
You’re not procrastinating. You’re resetting.
You’re letting your mind breathe through things that don’t demand perfection—just participation.
Next up?
The final section: a little pep talk to remind you that this break doesn’t mean “the end”—it just means you’re charging up for the comeback.
Ready for Section 5: Trust the Comeback? ⚡💪
Trust the Comeback
So you’ve stepped back. You’ve given your brain a break. You’ve reread comfort books, raged through fictional drama, and probably died at least six times in SCUM.
You’ve existed purely on vibes, snacks, and emotionally-charged plot twists. Iconic.
Now here’s the part your inner overachiever might not want to hear:
you don’t need to rush the comeback.
You don’t need to “bounce back better than ever” with a 10k writing sprint or an outline for a brand new series.
This isn’t a sports montage.
There’s no dramatic music playing while you stare at your laptop in slow motion. (Although, honestly? Someone should make that a thing.)
Sometimes the comeback starts small.
Like opening your doc and just reading through it without wanting to scream.
Or writing one single sentence that doesn’t make you hate everything.
That counts. That’s progress. That’s you getting back in the game—not because you forced yourself, but because you gave yourself the space to breathe.
And here’s the truth: rest isn’t weakness. It’s strategy.
Creativity needs fuel. And yours doesn’t come from constant hustle—it comes from living. Laughing. Gaming with your chaos crew.
Rewatching a drama where someone dramatically gets amnesia. Reading a book that reminds you why you love stories in the first place.
So trust the comeback.
Trust that your words will return—better, sharper, and possibly more unhinged in the best way—once your brain has had the chance to defrost.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re just recharging.
And when you’re ready to return to Under Darkness or whatever story’s calling your name next—you’ll come back swinging.
But for now?
Flop on.
Rest hard.
And let the commas wait.
Because same.
My brain has officially filed for workers’ comp and slapped a sticky note on my forehead that says “Down for Maintenance.” I’ve gone through so many rounds of editing Heaven’s Keys that by the end I was like, “You know what? Let’s just publish it before I try to rewrite the entire plot out of sheer panic.”
And now here I am, knee-deep in the first draft of Under Darkness, staring at blinking cursors and wondering if the word “the” is pulling its weight.
I’m not just tired. I’m the kind of mentally-fried where even my beloved K-dramas, C-dramas, and J-dramas are like, “Sis, we love you—but we can’t help you right now.” The plot twists don’t twist. The slow burns aren’t burning. And don’t even get me started on trying to follow subtitles when my eyes are basically buffering.
So guess what? I’m taking a break. A real one. One where I game with friends, reread the Iron Fey series because it still hits, and maybe–maybe—finally crack open the rest of Julie Kagawa’s books that are currently chilling on my TBR list like forgotten digital fossils.
Oh, and don’t be surprised if I spiral back into the gloriously messy world of the After series too. Judge me if you must. It’s toxic. It’s chaotic. It’s juicy.
If you’ve been stuck in an editing spiral, dragging your brain behind you like a half-dead houseplant—this one’s for you. You’re not lazy. You’re not giving up. You’re just overdue for a reboot.
And in this article, you’ll get:
Permission to stop (without guilt)
A laugh or three at how ridiculous burnout can be
A reminder that resting isn’t quitting—it’s literally how you keep going
Let’s get into it. After a snack. And a nap. Obviously.
Editing: The Endless Loop of Despair
Here’s how it starts: you write a sentence. You reread the sentence. You change a word. You stare at it. You change it back. You delete the whole thing. You write it again, slightly worse. Repeat until you either cry or close your laptop and walk away dramatically, like you’re in a writer-themed soap opera.
Editing, in theory, is supposed to polish your work. But sometimes? It just feels like slow creative erosion. Like you’re standing at the beach with a sandcastle of a story and every pass of edits is another wave slowly stealing chunks of it away.
Heaven’s Keys? That one’s been through the emotional equivalent of a telenovela. Multiple drafts. Endless tweaking. A few dark nights of the soul. And now that it’s finally published, your brain’s like, “Cool cool cool. Let’s jump into Under Darkness like nothing happened.”
Except—your brain has nothing left to give.
That’s the danger of the loop. You go from writing to editing to rewriting to doubting to obsessing to questioning if you’ve somehow forgotten how to string sentences together entirely. It’s like playing a game where the rules change every round and somehow you’re always losing.
And the wild part? No one talks about how exhausting that is.
People talk about writer’s block like it’s the only demon in the room. But editing fatigue? That sneaky gremlin that wears you down quietly until your ideas sound like elevator music? Yeah. That’s the one that gets you.
So if you’re stuck in that loop, feeling like every edit is just draining more of your soul–same.
And spoiler: it’s not weakness. It’s not laziness. It’s your brain saying,
“Hey, maybe let’s not run this creative engine into the ground.”
Next up?
We’re gonna talk about the true sign you need a break: when not even your comfort shows can save you.
Let me know if you want to tweak this section or if you’re ready for Section 2: When Even Your Favourite Dramas Can’t Save You.
When Even Your Favourite Dramas Can’t Save You
You know you’re cooked when even your holy trinity–Netflix, Viki, and YouTube—start feeling like background noise.
Normally, these shows are your lifeline. Your escape. Your emotional support chaos. You live for the love triangles, the dramatic stares, the slow-mo rain scenes, and the moment someone clutches their chest dramatically as they realise they’ve been in love this whole time. Chef’s kiss.
But lately? Nothing. You’re sitting there like a zombie, subtitles flying across the screen while your brain stares into the void. Plot twists that would normally have you gasping just get a blank blink. Your eyes are watching, but your soul has left the group chat.
That’s not just “meh” energy. That’s burnout.
When even your go-to joy sources start feeling like static, it’s your brain pulling the emergency brake.
It’s saying, “Hey bestie, love you, but I need a full system reboot, not another emotional rollercoaster with a broody CEO and an enemies-to-lovers arc.”
This is the point where you know it’s not just about writing anymore. You’re tired on a deeper level.
The kind of tired that Netflix, Viki, and YouTube can’t fix. The kind of tired that means it’s time to actually unplug.
And no, you don’t need to earn that break by being productive first. You don’t need to hit a word count, or finish a chapter, or edit “just one more scene.”
You just need to stop. Because when even your dramas can’t revive you, it’s not about entertainment anymore—it’s about recovery.
Next up?
How to actually take that break without spiralling into guilt (and yes, lying face down on the carpet absolutely counts).
Let me know when you’re ready for Section 3: The Sacred Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing (Without Feeling Guilty). 😌🛋️
The Sacred Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing (Without Feeling Guilty)
Doing nothing is an art form. A sacred ritual. A spiritual experience.
And yet… somehow also the one thing that makes us feel like absolute garbage if we’re not doing it ironically with a self-care candle and a productivity podcast playing in the background.
But hear me out: if your brain feels like it’s made of half-melted cheese and your eyeballs are staging a quiet protest every time you open a document, it’s time to flop.
And I mean full flop.
No partial flop.
No sneaky side quests.
No “I’ll just jot down a little plot note while I rest” nonsense.
We’re talking:
Horizontal. On the couch. Possibly in a blanket burrito.
Dead-eyed scrolling through TikTok for an hour and forgetting everything you just watched.
Staring at your TBR list like it personally betrayed you.
Mentally preparing to rest for so long you get tired from the idea of resting.
And of course, the guilt goblin shows up. Loudly. With notes.
“You should be working.”
“You’re falling behind.”
“Stephen King writes every day, you know.”
Shut up, Greg. (No offense to any Gregs out there)
You are not Stephen King.
You are a beautiful, exhausted little creative gremlin who has been doing the most and now deserves to do the least.
Real talk: your brain is not a 24/7 idea factory.
It is a fragile meat sponge that needs snacks, hydration, and silence.
Also, fun fact: doing nothing? Still doing something.
You’re recharging. You’re processing. You’re letting your brain stop sounding like a dial-up modem.
So if you find yourself lying face-down on the floor wondering whether you’re broken—you’re not.
You’re just buffering.
Next up?
Let’s talk about the true healing powers of rereading old favourites, screaming about fictional men in toxic relationships, and absolutely wrecking your friends in co-op games.
Ready for Section 4: Rereads, Rage-Reads, and Multiplayer Mayhem? 💅📖🎮
Rereads, Rage-Reads, and Multiplayer Mayhem
So, you’re taking a break. You’ve flopped. You’ve stared at the ceiling. You’ve eaten snacks you don’t even remember opening.
Now comes the recovery phase: feeding your brain the good stuff.
Let’s start with rereads.
There is nothing like returning to a book that still hits like it did the first time.
For me? That’s Julie Kagawa’s Iron Fey series. Every. Time.
I know what’s coming. I’ve read it before. Doesn’t matter. Still dramatic. Still magical. Still makes me want to stab someone with a fae blade and emotionally recover in a mushroom circle.
And sure, she’s got other series sitting on my TBR, just vibing, collecting digital dust like forgotten treasure.
Will I read them? Eventually.
But right now, I’m emotionally committed to my comfort chaos.
Then there’s the After series. Look.
It’s toxic. It’s wild. It’s like watching a beautifully dressed car crash in slow motion. But it’s also addictive and full of that “I can’t believe they just said that” energy that keeps you reading way past your bedtime.
Sometimes, you just need a little emotional damage to feel alive again. No shame.
And when the words aren’t hitting and even your favourite book boyfriends are like, “Not today, babe,”?
That’s when it’s time to enter full gamer goblin mode.
Enter: SCUM.
You haven’t lived until you’ve logged into SCUM with your friends, only to die within 60 seconds because someone forgot to say, “Hey, there’s a puppet right there.” Survival mode activated.
Suddenly, you’re looting bunkers, dodging robots, hunting deer like it’s your job, and arguing over whose turn it is to build the damn base.
It’s chaotic. It’s hilarious. And most importantly—it has nothing to do with writing.
And that’s the point.
This is your creative CPR:
Reread something that still slaps.
Rage-read something gloriously dramatic.
Get eaten by a puppet in SCUM and laugh about it with your friends.
You’re not procrastinating. You’re resetting.
You’re letting your mind breathe through things that don’t demand perfection—just participation.
Next up?
The final section: a little pep talk to remind you that this break doesn’t mean “the end”—it just means you’re charging up for the comeback.
Ready for Section 5: Trust the Comeback? ⚡💪
Trust the Comeback
So you’ve stepped back. You’ve given your brain a break. You’ve reread comfort books, raged through fictional drama, and probably died at least six times in SCUM.
You’ve existed purely on vibes, snacks, and emotionally-charged plot twists. Iconic.
Now here’s the part your inner overachiever might not want to hear:
you don’t need to rush the comeback.
You don’t need to “bounce back better than ever” with a 10k writing sprint or an outline for a brand new series.
This isn’t a sports montage.
There’s no dramatic music playing while you stare at your laptop in slow motion. (Although, honestly? Someone should make that a thing.)
Sometimes the comeback starts small.
Like opening your doc and just reading through it without wanting to scream.
Or writing one single sentence that doesn’t make you hate everything.
That counts. That’s progress. That’s you getting back in the game—not because you forced yourself, but because you gave yourself the space to breathe.
And here’s the truth: rest isn’t weakness. It’s strategy.
Creativity needs fuel. And yours doesn’t come from constant hustle—it comes from living. Laughing. Gaming with your chaos crew.
Rewatching a drama where someone dramatically gets amnesia. Reading a book that reminds you why you love stories in the first place.
So trust the comeback.
Trust that your words will return—better, sharper, and possibly more unhinged in the best way—once your brain has had the chance to defrost.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re just recharging.
And when you’re ready to return to Under Darkness or whatever story’s calling your name next—you’ll come back swinging.
But for now?
Flop on.
Rest hard.
And let the commas wait.
