The Silent Beats

The Silent Beats

February 11, 2026

1–2 minutes

Now and then, when you’re a writer, you’ll hit a patch of silence. Sometimes to be fair, months or years of silence.

And when I do it, every time, even after 40 years of this, I’m terrified the writing isn’t going to come back, the words aren’t going to flow, that something is gone, something is irrevocably broken.

Can it be?

I don’t know. I’ve had friends say they hit the end of writing. They still have stories and ideas come to them, but no longer can write. And maybe one day it will happen to me. Who knows?

However so far every time it happens, it’s because I’m ill. And once, because I was extremely burned out.

But mostly it’s because I’m ill. This last month has been difficult. I couldn’t write the stories that are almost finished. I couldn’t work on Orphans of the Stars. I couldn’t pretty much do much of anything, not even write songs for the continuing sound track.

I’m– I won’t say I’m still sick. I kind of am not, but the cough lingers. And yesterday I felt like I couldn’t wake up all day. So I was dragging and cranky.

And then today…. Today the damn broke. I’m still not well, but I can write.

Songs and a chapter flowed out.

And… I think they’re improved for the silence, though I don’t think it was that kind of silence. But obviously I’ve been turning things in my mind, and it made everything deeper and more powerful.

So–

There might come a time when the silence goes on and on. I hope not. I hope I die with my hands on the keyboard, having just finished a great novel.

But maybe like my older friends I’ll have a year or two of silence at the end.

It’s possible.

It might come.

But not today.

16 responses to “The Silent Beats”

jaglionpress

February 11, 2026 at 9:29 am

Glad you’re back in the saddle. For me sleep deprivation is the mind killer. If I short myself enough nights of sleep, I get to the point where I can’t handle anything more complex than the most mind numbing aspects of dayjob. Can’t write, can’t read, can’t hobby or effectively watch tv. (Ironically, I can sometimes swing the self assigned Greek homework though).

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1. Sarah A. Hoyt
  
  February 11, 2026 at 2:52 pm
  
  When I get sick sleep is the first thing to go.
  
  Reply
  1. jaglionpress
    
    February 11, 2026 at 4:29 pm
    
    Sometimes I am that way and sometimes “sleeps 18 hours out of 24” is a symptom.
    
    Reply
TXRed

February 11, 2026 at 9:59 am

I managed almost 800 words yesterday. Since I’m more congested than the Katy Freeway during rush hours, with intermittent gusts of coughing, it is a bit of a wonder. (Do not recommend the H-ll Cold.)

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njc

February 11, 2026 at 11:02 am

Very good news.

But today … today, I write!

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1. crossovercreativechaos
  
  February 11, 2026 at 3:37 pm
  
  *Thumbs up*
  
  Reply
Brandy

February 11, 2026 at 1:21 pm

I’m hoping that my painting will be like that once I get an easel setup back in place. So far I’m still in the quiet phase, but it’s like I can almost see the end. The sky is starting to look interesting again, and I’m starting to clear spaces and plan for it. So, perhaps. (Brandy)

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Bryan R Stahl

February 11, 2026 at 2:29 pm

That is a scary thing. Jerry Pournelle hit that after his brain tumor treatments and never came back.

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1. Sarah A. Hoyt
  
  February 11, 2026 at 3:19 pm
  
  And Dave Drake after some ischemic events. Since I have those regularly….
  
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2. Sarah A. Hoyt
  
  February 11, 2026 at 3:20 pm
  
  Oh, so no one gets scared. I have those about one in ten years. Usually they can’t explain them. Weirdly the first GAVE me art. Though at the expense of writing as I was no longer as fast.
  
  Reply
crossovercreativechaos

February 11, 2026 at 3:39 pm

“Not today” is all we can ask for.

Fighting some crud as well. Odd day job hours not helping. Getting some needed stuff out of the way, then going to tackle at least sketching a particular fight scene.

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Dan Lane

February 11, 2026 at 8:55 pm

I lost music a long time ago. Can’t play anymore, barely sing, hard to hold a beat in my head. Writing has had some issues. Lost for a time, comes wandering back like the cat begging for scraps months later with a look that says “what? I’m here now, and that’s what matters. Kat Fud, hooman!”

Sometimes it’s the depression that hits like a truck and needs to be wrestled back into its sack. Sometimes its excessiveness of work. Sometimes it’s real life drama that happens. Others? Who knows. It happens.

Sometimes it’s dreck and its crap and nothing good, because excess is a hard habit to trim. Sometimes its blank and empty without even the whistle of the wind or a single tumbleweed going through. Even if I die today, there will be tales a few that I’ve finished and plenty more unfinished. That’s a given, if my fate is to keep this brain of mine wrinkly and churning and not static and dumb.

Sometimes the silence is necessary. Active brain doesn’t know squat sometimes. That more primal hindbrain knows things and processes without undue distraction. It’s how I discovered the cheating before my long ago ex confessed to it. How I didn’t die several times over, when death was inches away (if that).

And sometimes its because the hindbrain is processing story. I have story bibles and suchlike. Plots and tables and timelines. But that’s not where the magic comes from. That’s not where the stories come to life.

Apparently, it’s at oh dark thirty and sleep deprived, shaking muscle exhaustion and barely coherent where the best stories come from. Because that’s where the ones that get the “please sir, can I have some more?” from the readers.

The writing is churning away in the background right now. Not quite silent, but a mumble. Perhaps it will get louder. Perhaps I’ll listen better. But the stories will go on. And on, and on (chapter 64 still needs a write and 63 needs a big fix because it stinks like boiled carrion).

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1. Sarah A. Hoyt
  
  February 11, 2026 at 10:11 pm
  
  yes. that.
  
  Reply
sarathered

February 12, 2026 at 11:36 am

I have been dealing with silence since 2009, for writing, and since 2012 for art. I’m trying to get it back, but still really struggling. It feels like I lost a huge part of myself, and I’m not sure how to find it again.

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1. Dan Lane
  
  February 12, 2026 at 3:22 pm
  
  It’s different for everyone, I think. For some, a good workout coupled with healthy eating starts the spark bubbling back to the surface. For others, it’s psychological psyche out. The stuff is there, but you convince yourself it isn’t (seen that one before, close hand). For some it requires the complete cessation of the active mind (via extremes of emotion, exhaustion, et cetera).
  
  Sometimes it requires being brave enough to write crap and create schlub’s schmegma. Sometimes it means stealing from dreams, be they of the daywalking kind or the nighttime fantasies.
  
  Sometimes it means thievery. Outright burgling from better bags. Taking scenes that move you and making them yours.
  
  And others it’s the stubborn, butt-in-the-creator’s-chair, hands on implements kind of grinding until the plaque is abraded away and things flow clean again. There is creation in you. Believe that. It’s an intrinsic part of humanity itself. Only special (shot bus special) people can’t live without exploding their inner world out into the outer. I say that one of the people occasionally driving the bus.
  
  Don’t give up on yourself. You’re the best you’ve got at knowing you. Take proper care of yourself. And be brave enough to try, try again.
  
  Reply
Pam Uphoff

February 13, 2026 at 1:34 pm

There’s not a cold medicine in existence that doesn’t shut down the writing. Acetaminophen is the killer of words.

Other stuff too. but that’s my first check. “Did you forget and take a Tylenol instead of aspirin, again?”

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