When My Writing Life Doesn't Go to Plan | Tanya E. Williams


When My Writing Life Doesn't Go to Plan | Tanya E. Williams

When the Writing Life Doesn't Go to Plan

There are seasons in the writing life that don't look anything like what you imagined. Not because something went wrong exactly — but because life has its own quiet sense of direction, and it doesn't always consult your outline.

This has been one of those seasons for me.

And what I found on the other side of it — about writing, about resilience, about finishing the stories that matter — wasn't quite what I expected.

When the Body Has Other Plans

A few months ago, I started noticing a dull ache in my left shoulder. Nothing dramatic. Just a low-level grumbling I filed away under things to keep an eye on.

I was staying active. Stretching. Moving. Taking care of myself the way we do when we're trying to avoid the thing we don't want to admit might be happening.

But it didn't pass. Instead, it progressed — quickly, and with very little warning — into something I couldn't write around or walk off.

What I was dealing with is called frozen shoulder. The medical term is adhesive capsulitis: a condition where the tissue surrounding the shoulder joint becomes inflamed and tightened, progressively limiting your range of motion. For me, that progression wasn't gradual. Almost overnight, I moved from daily discomfort to being unable to move my left arm in any direction without intense pain.

If you've experienced frozen shoulder yourself, you already know what I mean when I say it has a way of becoming the entire conversation. For four of the worst days, even breathing was unbearable. I found myself surrounded by pillows on the sofa, trying not to move, quietly recalibrating everything.

Writing — even thinking about writing — stopped.

A top view of a laptop keyboard, an open notebook, and a hand holding a pen, conveying paused writing. Text overlay reads,

What My Writing Life Actually Looks Like

From the outside, the writing life doesn't look physically demanding. And in many ways, it isn't. But hours at a keyboard — arms forward, shoulders engaged, neck tipped toward a screen — means your body is very much part of the process. It carries the work with you, even when you think you're just sitting still.

For the first weeks, I persevered through the discomfort, taking breaks, adjusting my position, trying to keep the draft moving forward. An approaching deadline has a way of doing that — keeping you at the desk even when the desk isn't quite where you want to be.

And then one morning, I couldn't sit down at all.

There was no planning the next scenes. No easing into the work. There was just the sofa, the pillows, and the slow, reluctant realization that I needed to stop.

I've been writing for over a decade. I've navigated deadlines and difficult drafts and the particular quiet anxiety of a story that isn't quite ready to be understood. But I hadn't quite encountered this before — the experience of my body simply saying not today, and meaning it completely.

That's when something unexpected surfaced.

The Quieter Kind of Showing Up

We talk a lot, in writing circles, about discipline. About routine and word counts and the importance of showing up. And those things are true. Consistency is how a story gets written.

But there's another kind of showing up that we don't talk about as often — the quieter kind. Where you write three hundred words instead of a thousand, and you count them. Where you rest when your body asks you to, and you trust — even when it's hard to trust — that the story will still be there when you return.

It won't wander off. The characters will wait.

I've been healing. Daily shoulder mobility exercises, ice packs, and the steady, grounding presence of my family have been seeing me through. The worst is behind me, and I am back at my desk — not at full speed, but moving forward. Which, right now, is everything.

If you'd like to hear me talk through this season a little more personally, I shared the full story in my most recent Author Notes episode. You can watch it below.

Hotel Hamilton Book 5 — Where Things Stand

I want to be honest with you about where the writing is, because you've stayed with this series and you deserve to know.

I am deep in the draft of Hotel Hamilton Book 5 — the final book in the Hotel Hamilton series. That word, final, carries more weight than I anticipated. It is bittersweet in the truest sense: I am confident this is the right time to close the series, and I am still reluctant to say goodbye to these characters and this world. Both things are equally true.

The frozen shoulder slowed me considerably. I should be closer to handing the manuscript off to my editor than I currently am. But the story is in me. I have everything I need to finish it. All I'm waiting for now is the time and the physical steadiness to sit down and write it through.

Doing right by the Hotel Hamilton — by the readers who have spent years with this series — matters more to me than any timeline. I want the ending to be worthy of everything that came before it.

It will be. I'm certain of that.

On the Other Side of a Hard Season

It isn't lost on me that the thing I kept returning to — even through the worst days — is the same thing I write about. Ordinary women rising above circumstances they didn't expect. Finding a way forward through conditions that were never ideal.

I won't pretend that parallel made the frozen shoulder easier. But it did remind me of something I believe genuinely: what's waiting on the other side of a hard stretch is still yours.

For me, that's the Hotel Hamilton. It's the historical mystery series, which I know some of you have been quietly waiting for. It's more Author Notes episodes, and more of these conversations.

The story isn't finished yet. Not mine, and not theirs.

And perhaps that's what keeps drawing us back — to the books we love, and to the writing lives we've chosen — the quiet certainty that there is always more on the other side, if we're willing to keep going toward it.

A book open on a table with delicate white flowers. Text in the center reads,

Frequently Asked Questions

What is frozen shoulder, and why does it affect writers?
Frozen shoulder (adhesive capsulitis) is a condition where the tissue surrounding the shoulder joint becomes inflamed and stiff, causing significant pain and a progressive loss of range of motion. Writers are particularly vulnerable because long hours at a keyboard keep the shoulders in a fixed, forward-engaged position — which can contribute to inflammation over time. For me, what began as a dull ache progressed quickly into something that made sitting at a desk impossible.

What are the stages of frozen shoulder?
Frozen shoulder typically moves through three phases. The first — the freezing stage — is often the most painful, with increasing discomfort and a gradual loss of movement. The second stage, sometimes called the frozen stage, is when movement is most restricted but pain may begin to ease slightly. The third is the thawing stage, when range of motion slowly returns. Recovery timelines vary, but most people do eventually regain full movement with consistent physiotherapy and patience.

What is the root cause of frozen shoulder?
The exact cause isn't always clear, which is one of the more frustrating aspects of the condition. It can be linked to prolonged immobility, repetitive strain, hormonal changes, or underlying health factors. Women — particularly those between 40 and 60 — are diagnosed more frequently than men, though researchers are still exploring why. If you're noticing persistent shoulder pain or stiffness, it's worth speaking with your doctor sooner rather than later; early intervention tends to make a meaningful difference.

If this resonated with you, I'd love to have you join me in the newsletter — where I share the behind-the-scenes moments that don't always make it into a blog post or a video. It's a small, thoughtful space, and I think you'd feel right at home there.