Writing in Quicksand

“Gethsemane is where something in you dies. But Eden is where something new is born.” — Kevin Frasure

Photo by Nate Neelson on Unsplash

Some days, the writing flows.

Other days, it feels like dragging your soul across gravel just to string two sentences together.

And then there are the quick-sand days.

The days where you sit down full of hope, maybe even a flicker of excitement, and the moment your fingers hit the keys… nothing. Just the thick pull of doubt. The heaviness. The second-guessing. The voice that whispers, What’s the point? Who cares?

Today was one of those days.

I’ve been working to get my film made for the past few years. I’ve reached out to hundreds of people. I’ve built crowdfunding teams, pitched to investors and sponsors, and kept pressing forward. Still, the project remains unfunded.

At the same time, I’ve been consistent with my Substack. It’s growing, slowly, steadily, but some days it still feels like I’m writing alone in the dark.

Maybe you’ve felt it too. That sense that you’re shouting into a void. That your effort isn’t being seen. That no matter how hard you work, the world doesn’t care.

We all have those days. They’re part of the process.

Photo by Andrey Tikhonovskiy on Unsplash

It had been a while since I felt that sting, which made it hit even harder today. I wasn’t expecting it. I’ve had some real wins lately—investors expressing interest, a proof-of-concept scene I’m proud of, stories I’ve written that I actually like. But I’m human. I get tired. I get discouraged. And sometimes, I sink.

I was trying to get in the zone. I’d done some real-world tasks, checked a few boxes, and was shifting into creative mode—that sacred place where time disappears and you’re chasing something deeper, something bigger than yourself.

But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt like I was writing in wet cement.

Not all at once. At first, I thought I could push through it. But the inner critic showed up, loud and cruel. Not just about writing, but about everything: the unfinished to-do lists, the future I’m chasing, the past I’m dragging, the people who say they support me but don’t really understand what I’m building.

And suddenly, that quicksand was up to my chest.

When you’re in that place, it’s easy to believe the lie:
That your words don’t matter.
That no one is listening.
That it’s all wasted effort.

But let me tell you something true:

If you’re writing from quicksand, you’re still writing.

And that’s something to be proud of. That’s the grit part of being creative. Anyone can write when the muse is dancing and the lighting is perfect. But building something in the dark, with mud on your boots and resistance clawing at your throat? That’s something else entirely.

That’s not just work. That’s heart work.

And sometimes, those are the words that most need to be written, not because they’re polished, but because they’re honest. Because they come from the part of you that refuses to give up, even when the world feels heavy and your confidence is flickering out.

So here I am, writing this.

Not because it’s easy. Not because I feel inspired.
But because this is what it means to be a writer.

If you’re stuck in the quicksand today, I see you.
And I’m right there beside you, one word at a time.

We’ll dig out together.

And when you’re in this place, maybe remember Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He felt utterly alone. Everyone had fallen asleep. The weight of what He was carrying pressed down like a stone on His chest. And yet, He chose to keep going.

He prayed alone, but Heaven was listening.

Your Gethsemane moments—the ones full of doubt, exhaustion, and silence, are real. But they’re not the end. Gethsemane is where something in you dies. But just beyond that place… is Eden.

Eden is where you create. Where life begins again.
Where innocence and imagination meet.
Where your stories are born.

So, where are you today?

Gethsemane or Eden?
Either way, keep going.
Keep writing.

You’re not alone.

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