Snowed In
Wintering my creative backlog, and behavioral self-compassion for when you feel snowed in, too
This weekend’s snow blanket felt like an apt metaphor for how I’ve been feeling about my writing journey… snowed in!
Remember a few posts back…wintering the tires and brakes of this dissemination bus and wanting to get back in the driver’s seat? I’ve been doing that, for myself and my writing, and want to tell you more about it. (Today, I’ll stick to wintering the writing.)
The short version: After 4.5 years of near-daily writing across platforms, genres, topics, notes, posts, devices, publications, and sub-publications — and very little time spent on the backend — my writing has piled up!
Rather than pause at any given point and turn towards publishing-related tasks, I have kept writing new things, for lots of reasons (e.g., motivated to write, not market and sell).
Now, I am snowed in. I’ve amassed enough memoir essays for at least one book, fiction essays that could be children’s books, the start of a speculative fiction series, the first nine chapters of a dystopian novel, dozens of poems and haiku, and a few field-specific essays that might be publishable if polished…
Here, at the start of 2026, I, like many people in my life, have started wondering, why, when, how long…? So, I’ve been reflecting, on lots of things.
In the absence of any pivotal moments or epiphanies, I’ve started organizing. I figured that has to be a first step, if anything ‘more’ can be made of what I’ve done. Permanent products are only as lasting as the modality of transmission, and essays across social platforms have all but disappeared from public view.
“Wintering” my writing has included self-evaluation of my motivation for generating products (books); allocating time towards getting organized (now or never); recalibrating my public-private boundaries when it comes to spontaneous shares; recruiting help in the background; and taking a behavioral approach to both the organization and the self-talk — all of which I wrote about here.
Oh, and I have continued to write daily notes on Substack. Notes don’t go to email, so they’re perfect for one-off ideas, haiku, poems, shorts, and shares. I linked some popular notes from January at the bottom of this post, after the behavioral tips for self-compassion when feeling snowed in, too.
I am excited to talk a little more about the behavioral elements of this during a Substack Live with Memoir Mentors at 9 am EST on March 2nd, on the topic of getting organized and breaking tasks into smaller goals. :)
The longer version follows. I really appreciate you reading or skimming! It took much longer than expected, which tells me there were some things I needed to work out for myself — and for old and new readers. The rest of this post explains how and what amount of snow (writing) has accumulated, and offers a brief behavioral insight for when you feel snowed in — ending with a recap and links to writing you might’ve missed if you don’t use the Substack app.
It’s snowing words!
More often than writer’s block, I experience writer’s flush — an excess of words. I have too many words, about too many topics, to say to too many people, in too little time, without an organizational system to hold them.
That is, my major ice blocks along this writing road are (a) mass production, (b) organization, outside writing times, while writing keeps amassing, and (c) audience or platform control that contributes to “where do I put this and when” conundrums (e.g., no one wants an email from me every day, not even my dad). I also like to write about what hits, emotionally, which makes it hard to stick to a predetermined list of topics.
Combined, these variables contribute to a pile of snow, hundreds of documents deep.
Why is it snowing words in the first place?
If you’ve followed me or my handle, Everyday Behaviorist, on other platforms for a while, you know my intentions have been fairly consistent:
maintain and expand a community of people curious about behaviorism in everyday life, or what that means for this unique behaviorist
write for myself — to make it exist first, make it good later, loosen conditioned perfectionism, and reclaim my love of writing
write for others — to share tidbits of behavior analysis and radical behaviorism in creative, niche-less, and palatable forms
and, someday in the unspecified future, compile all this work into income-generating products, and earn a livable income from writing (LOL)
That last one is where things get icey. “The future” being some unspecified time in the not-now, not generating book-like products means that, even if I were to get lucky enough to be among the small percentage of full-time writers who earn living wage from their books, I will never be one if I keep avoiding the backend work. That is, at some point, I have to suck it up and do it for the glory. Maybe that starts now, with getting organized.
How and where’d the snow accumulate?
Anyone who’s ever done the dishes before they step outside to shovel a wall of snow knows a thing or two about matching law and pre-ratio pausing, even if they’ve never heard those terms. But, let’s back up. How did the snow wall accumulate?
For a while (2021–2024), I was mostly writing memoir essays, interspersed with other forms. I shared draft chapters of my mosaic memoir — then called “my book” — with a generous, benevolent Facebook audience. (Say what you will about FB, but I received more support than I ever expected from colleagues and friends, and am eternally grateful and all the better for all of it. Many burned out, but who can blame them? I mean, besides “how-hard-is-a-like” me, before “I-am-being-a-jerk” me took over my covert verbal behavior.)
By late 2024, I’d written most of what I wanted to say in the memoir, but instead of organizing, editing, and compiling, I put a pin in “my book” and took even-more scenic detours: fiction, nonfiction, field essays, poetry….
In all this word snow, I’ve accumulated:
enough essays for one, maybe two, memoirs
speculative fiction essays that could become series
the first nine chapters of a dystopian novel (can read here)
allegories and fiction that could be children’s books (need illustrator)
poems and haiku galore
field-specific essays that might be publishable if polished
On Substack, this writing lives across essays and notes in Everyday Behaviorist, Operant Spirituality, and Behavior Curious. In the latter two publications, you will find collections of essays of which I’m proud, if not finished!
Outside Substack, word snow has accumulated across platforms, accounts, devices, and organizational systems, too… Sometimes, I’m a blizzard.
That’s it. That’s the snowbank. The mass of it. Snowed in.
Why no snowman, given all this snow?
I’m sure you could come up with various words that describe my behavior — creative, dedicated, vulnerable on the nicer end; disorganized, impulsive, ADHD on the other — but all would be descriptors, none a single, operable variable. The reasons for my lack of snowmen (books), like all natural events, are historical, environmental, and entirely outside my skin:
The simplest? The most seeable? The most changeable?
I’ve never made a snowman by myself: Copywriting, proofreading, graphic design, ISBN, ASBN, LCCN, trim size, bleed, front and back matter, ARC, POD, KDP, WIP… I do not have a history of publishing, outside academia, and the reinforcement for learning/doing hasn’t yet outmatched the reinforcement for what I do instead.
Work: some career upheaval and new positions over the last few years; my jobs are not typical 9-5 (high emotional and behavioral demand, many people to train and coordinate, new and rotating tasks, privacy considerations, etc.). Like many of us, I switch between lots of different types of responding in a given day, which is its own kind of variable that words like “tired” don’t capture.
Life: all the usual challenges and then some (family, technology, rural life)
Concurrent responses: the political environment in the US has been difficult to witness, and I’ve allocated many words to it, elsewhere, at some cost to future me
Other personal matters, challenges, and health or biological variables
… so, an avalanche of variables that feels impossible to dig out from under, sometimes.
None impede the writing itself. They simply complicate everything around it — the parts of “writing” that result in products the public sees or doesn’t see.
Digging out while it’s still snowing
I’ve been getting digging myself out by getting organized — and getting help. Pulling old posts from other platforms, putting them in one location, subcategorized. Pulling from notes on Substack, where I have some poetry and fiction buried.
I also joined a mentorship group that meets once a week and includes self-monitoring, weekly check ins, writing co-work sessions, and a supportive leader (who is not a behavior analyst, but sounds like one, huh?).
BUT, it’s also still snowing: I’ve kept writing! (Doing so during all this “wintering” has helped me re-navigate my public-private boundaries, but that’s a different topic.)
Here, I write a lot of “shorts” and poems in Notes — in the Substack app or website. Notes don’t go to email, which makes them perfect for poetry and notes about things I might write about later — or topics others can use as writing prompts.
At the end of this post, I linked some recent notes and posts that email-only subscribers or non-app users might have missed. Thank you for reading any of them.
Behaviorism can help when you feel snowed in…
Now, the part for anyone feeling overhwelmed by a snow wall of your own making:
One way behaviorism — looking outside the body, brain, character, or diagnosis for the causes of our do-say-think-feels — facilitates both compassion and action is that it points to variables to change instead of variables to blame.
When I think about how many places, devices, documents, and platforms hold my writing, it feels too big to ever organize. But, a behavioral approach allows me to make it actionable — break tasks into smaller units, set achievable goals, and monitor progress.
Just as importantly, the philosophy of radical behaviorism helps redirect the locus of control and soften the language about self:
For instance, I try not to say “I’m disorganized,” as true as it may be. I catch myself and say I am responding under different sources of audience and stimulus control.
I don’t blame “impulsivity” or ADHD for my topics, I say, I generated words when I could and posted where those words were most likely to be reinforced (or reinforcers for the audience). I can be more intentional and self-aware when making products of my writing public.
I don’t say, “I didn’t save posts elsewhere because I’m lazy,” I say, I didn’t save posts elsewhere because I was doing a million other things, and conditions that support organization haven’t occurred. (Now, I just have to arrange those conditions because the future is now!)
From there, without shame or blame, I return to smaller goals, stimulus control, embedded reinforcers, changes in my writing conditions, and getting some assistance in the background. And not looking inside for blame.
More about this during a Substack Live with Memoir Mentors at 9 am EST on March 2nd, on the topic of getting organized and breaking tasks into smaller goals.
Snow Cream (recap)
I write daily, across genres and platforms, much of which you don’t see
The backlog has gotten too big to organize without slowing down
“Wintering” means more organizing, more editing, getting more background help — not sure what it will mean in terms of output of my sub-publications, but weekly-ish posts and daily notes here at EB will continue
Using a behavioral lens to frame one’s struggles is self-compassionate and solution-oriented
None of my notes are sent to email, so check out “activity”, or “posts” in my other publications (Operant Spirituality and Behavior Curious)
If you made it this far, you are an incredibly supportive reader! Thank you, sincerely, for caring enough to read to the end. I’m curious, have you faced a similar situation with your writing or creative journey?
So glad you’re part of my community. It’s my 1- year anniversary here on Substack, and I’m feeling called to celebrate the creators I’ve found here! Please stay tuned.
Peace, love, and stimulus control,
Jennifer
Posts and notes you might’ve missed
This post was a haiku with some background that was too long for a note but too “light” to email to people whose inboxes I try to respect, so I didn’t email it.
This was a post from two weeks ago, which I didn’t send by email for reasons explained herein (an early draft, not the entire context, etc.).
Here are some recent notes:
Loved this Jennifer. It’s a heat wave in Australia right now yesterday my husband booked a trip to the Dolomites. Will be in the snow soon. Yay!!
Excited to chat with you more in March! Thanks for the kind words, Jennifer. I feel ya!! You'll get there. I believe in you!