The time I was caught in the headlights

It's fair to say that 2026 hasn't gone exactly to plan.

Midway through January, I had to have a small operation. Nothing too dramatic, but the recovery has been challenging to say the least. And not just physically. Professionally it's been a pain in the backside too.

I’m a freelance creative. I juggle writing gigs and consultancy work, managing my time like a ninja. Any kind of illness, big or small, throws a spanner in the works, especially when recovery doesn’t follow the neat, optimistic timeline you had in your head.

In this case, I was lucky. I have a wonderful agent and an understanding publisher, both of whom helped when my novel schedule collided head-first with the heath shenanigans. Deadlines shifted and accommodations were made.

I remain hugely grateful. It meant I could reshuffle the deck, putting the novel temporarily to one side and focusing on smaller, less time-consuming projects while I recovered.

Last week, it was time to return to the book. Because I’d stopped partway through the draft, I decided to go back to the beginning and edit what I already had. Not my usual approach — I’m a vomit-draft kind of guy — but I figured it would ease me back into the flow.

Except it didn't. Not at first.

Every time I thought about opening the document, I broke out in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with surgery. I found endless reasons not to start. Tiny jobs suddenly became urgent. Admin expanded to fill the day.

There was so much to do, and I’d been away from the book for what felt like forever. What if I couldn’t get back up to speed? What if what I’d written was rubbish? What if I ran out of time? What if other jobs derailed everything?

What?

What?

What?

Classic rabbit-in-the-headlights behaviour. Once the questions started, they wouldn’t stop. I was frozen, watching a ten-tonne truck hurtling straight at me — driven, of course, by the imposter-syndrome gremlin who lives rent free in my head.

You should never have taken this on.

You’re going to let everyone down.

They’re going to realise how bad you actually are.

Stupid gremlin. Stupid head. Stupid me!

But here’s the thing. My panic had nothing to do with workload, scheduling, or even recovery. It was about fear. The task felt overwhelming. Too big. Out of control. Which... it wasn't.

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One hop at a time

Writing a novel is a big job. Of course it is. I knew that when I signed the contract. And I had a plan back then, one that was working exceptionally well until life got in the way. The plan took a knock, but it hadn’t collapsed. It just needed rebuilding.

And I wasn’t going to rebuild it by staring into the headlights.

So I did what I always do in situations like this. I started small.

I opened the document and selected chapter one. The task ahead wasn’t edit 30,000 messy words. It was edit chapter one. That was it. One chapter. If I managed that by the end of the day, I could claim it as a win.

And it worked.

Hop.

Chapter one led to chapter two. Then chapter three didn’t feel so intimidating. By the end of the day I'd reached the end of chapter four.

The next day I managed chapter five. Then six. Then seven.

Hop.

Hop.

Hop.

Now I’m back in the flow. There’s still plenty to do, but I’m moving in the right direction again, one tiny hop at a time.

Whenever a task feels overwhelming, when a project or goal feels like too big a leap, break it down into hops.

Can't write a book? Write a chapter.

Can't write a chapter? Write a paragraph.

Can't write a paragraph? Write a line.

Once you make that first hop, the rest are bound to follow.