Last month, I wrote about the careful plans I made to revise My Invisible Name over winter break—and how unexpected delays unraveled that timeline, forcing me to confront my long-standing struggle with patience and trust in the writing process. Patience isn’t only an issue for me in writing; it’s something I’ve dealt with over the years in every area of my life. I have never been a patient person. However, I’ve handled it better over the last several years. Still, it’s an everyday skill I know I’ll need to keep improving for the rest of my life.
Regarding the patience I had to show with my novel’s draft, I’m happy to report that I received my editor’s critique about three weeks ago. I’m also thrilled that I won’t have to write an entirely new draft, as I did with my first book. Instead of writing more, my editor suggested that I eliminate some chapters and integrate the most important information from them into the remaining ones.
That makes so much sense to me.
Trust me, it takes a great deal of humility to receive critique notes on work I’ve creatively produced. But I understand that I am a writer, not an editor. I’m not an expert in structuring stories to best serve an audience. I can bring stories to life through imagination, but editors have the skills to ensure those stories are clear, cohesive, and ready for readers.
The adage “stay in your lane” refers to doing what you are called to do. In every area of my life, I’ve had to acknowledge what I’m good at and what I’m truly called to do. If I tried to do everything I enjoyed or felt capable of, I would stretch myself beyond what I could bear. I’d also risk being less effective because I wouldn’t have the time or focus to truly refine anything. I’d rather be great at one thing than mediocre at many.
Taking my rightful place in what I believe I’ve been called to do allows me to devote myself fully to it—and to grow. Staying in my lane requires letting go of things that could weaken my ability to help the people I’m meant to serve. I realize I’m not meant to help everyone; that would be impossible. But I can be available for the remnant of people I’m meant to reach. That includes young people, teenagers, and others within my immediate sphere—family, friends, and co-workers.
By staying in my lane, I can focus on what’s in front of me without getting into other traffic that could hinder me from reaching my destination safely and on time. I can receive my editor’s suggestions with openness and use them to produce the best novel possible. This will require patience as I work through revisions during an especially busy season of life. But because I’m not taking on more than I can handle, the time will be there—and I must be intentional about using it.
That’s my plan for the next couple of months. I’ve set a deadline to finish this draft by spring break, the third week in March. Then comes the next phase of the journey: completing and releasing My Invisible Name, the sequel to My Invisible Father. I’m eager to share this story with readers—but I’m learning that patience isn’t passive waiting. It’s a steady commitment, even when progress feels slow. And for a story that matters, that kind of patience is worth practicing.