Five Ideas I've Kept on Life Support for a Decade (and Why I'm Not Pulling the Plug)
There's a difference between an abandoned project and a long-term companion. The abandoned ones, you forget on purpose. The companions? They ride along for years, resurfacing at red lights and in the shower, whispering hey, remember me?
I keep a running list of mine — my personal Hall of Fame. Today I'm introducing five of the inductees, because I've come to believe these long-term relationships say more about your creative DNA than your finished work ever will.
1. The Novel About the Motel
Since 2014, I've been carrying a literary novel about a woman who inherits a roadside motel outside Reno. I've written roughly 40,000 words across four separate attempts. I have a playlist. I have a Pinterest board I'm embarrassed about.
It's never going to be the book I thought it would be, mostly because I'm not that kind of writer. But the pull of it taught me something crucial: I'm drawn to places that hold people temporarily. Look at my other work and you'll see that theme everywhere. The novel isn't a failure. It's a compass.
2. The Podcast I Recorded Exactly One Episode Of
In 2019 I recorded an episode of a show about creative people's unfinished work (I know. I know.). I edited it for eleven hours, hated my voice, and shelved it.
What it taught me: I don't actually want to be a host. I want to be a maker of things — written things. But the research and interviews from that one episode have fed a dozen essays since. Sometimes an idea's real job is to hand you raw material for the idea that comes after it.
3. The Etsy Shop That Never Opened
For about three years, I designed greeting cards — hand-lettered, printed at a local shop, gorgeous if I say so myself. I built the shop, photographed the inventory, wrote the listings. Then I never clicked publish.
This one taught me the hardest lesson in the Hall of Fame: some ideas aren't stalled because of the work. They're stalled because part of you knows the business of the idea isn't for you. I loved making the cards. I did not love pricing them, shipping them, or asking strangers for $6. Knowing that saved me from a much bigger, more expensive realization later.
4. The Newsletter With 47 Drafts
I have a newsletter account with 47 unpublished drafts and zero subscribers. Every few months I write a new one, feel the old dread, and close the tab.
But here's the thing — several of those drafts became full articles on this site. The newsletter, it turns out, functions as my rough draft machine. It's not a distribution channel. It's a sketchbook. Once I reframed it that way, the guilt evaporated.
5. The App Idea (Yes, Really)
In a moment of peak ambition circa 2016, I sketched a productivity app for writers, complete with hand-drawn wireframes. I cannot code. I have never hired a developer. This idea is pure fantasy — and I keep it anyway, because every time it resurfaces, it's usually pointing at a real frustration in my own workflow that's worth solving a simpler way.
The Three-Question Test for Your Shelved Ideas
Not every idea deserves a revival, and not every shelved idea deserves the guilt trip either. Here's the filter I use now:
- Does it still generate energy or only guilt? Energy means there's something alive in there. Guilt alone means it's an obligation wearing a costume.
- Has it changed shape over the years? Ideas that evolve with you are companions. Ideas frozen in time are usually finished, even if they don't know it.
- What is it currently feeding? If a dormant project is quietly fueling other work — themes, skills, material — it's not shelved. It's composting.
If an idea passes all three, give it a season. A real one, with a start date and a small deliverable. If it fails all three, write it a nice eulogy and free up the shelf space.
My Hall of Fame isn't a museum of my failures. It's the longest-running conversation I've ever had with myself. The novel, the podcast, the cards, the drafts, the app — each one is a mirror, and honestly? I like what they show me.
