Too Much of A Good Thing…

You know the rest, but let’s talk about it. (Or, I’ll talk while you read.)

Before we begin, there’s something I need you to know about this post: it comes to you in the midst of a writing retreat. In fact, the only reason you are getting to read this post (which has languished on my laptop for more than a month now) is because of the much-needed time, space, and support that the retreat has given me to finish it.

I point this out because it is conveniently relevant to the topic of this post, which is the value of support and community to a writer. While one may assume a writer can never have enough time and space for their authorly pursuits, the opposite can absolutely be true when it comes to support. I know. I know. It sounds like I’m booing the idea of writing support communities but hear me out.

Time and space lend themselves to focus, which most writers will (should!) agree is incredibly important to the craft. Support, on the other hand, can lead to distractions if the provision of it outpaces the need. Ask me how I know! (No need; I was planning to tell you anyway.)

For a short window of time, I surrounded myself with way more writing support in a limited span of time than I needed:

• I’m a co-organizer and event host for my local writing critique group, which has been going strong for fourteen years.
• I followed an established middle grade (MG) writing group via Instagram and Eventbrite that hosts monthly virtual events for craft discussions and publishing industry interviews.
• I joined another MG writing group that congregates on Discord to share advice, moral support, and mutual commiseration regarding the state of children’s publishing.
• I signed up for the Manuscript Academy, which offers monthly panels, workshops, and general online community support for querying authors.
• I fell in with a small group of women writers who connected during one of the Academy’s workshops and decided to continue the fellowship through Google chats and emails.
• I signed up to test a separate writing group creator platform offered through the Academy and established some chat groups there.
• I participated in a recurring chapter-by-chapter beta read exchange with a fellow young adult fantasy writer whom I met through an online agent panel.
• I joined up with two short-lived endeavors: a local screenwriters’ group, which quickly fizzled out after two sessions, and an inaugural session of another local writing critique group, which didn’t last beyond that first session.

If this sounds like a lot, I assure you, IT WAS. 

There was never a point when all of these writing group memberships overlapped, but I was active in at least four or five at any given time. I relied on my Google calendar to keep group-related events straight, but that tactic eventually morphed into something that was more habitual than helpful. I wanted—nay, needed—my calendar to be peppered with color-coded meetings on evenings and weekends. If I had a relatively blank week, I fretted about not doing enough writerly careerish stuff.

That was a problem. I oversaturated myself to the point where craft development and writing support activities consumed more of my time than actually writing and editing. I made it a point to regularly check in, comment, interact, and sign up for events in each of the groups. In some cases, I took on the mantle of reigniting lulled conversations to keep things moving forward the way I thought they should, all in the name of being an “active member” and thus, an Author.

Over time, juggling the social and support requirements of so many groups began to feel like a chore and then, an obligation. That’s when I realized I needed to scale back my authorly group activities. I re-assessed my commitments and their usefulness to my writing goals and excused myself from those that no longer served me. 

I disconnected from the two MG support groups once I finally shelved my middle grade project in 2025. I bowed out of the women’s writing group after the chats had gone silent for a period of several months. I discontinued my Academy membership last fall, as I’ve gotten more than sufficient feedback on my current query project, and I left the Academy-associated group creator platform once activity there slowed to a crawl. And lastly, I wrapped up the YA fantasy chapter exchange in January but left the connection with that author open for support on future YA fantasy projects.

To be clear, I didn’t leave these communities because of some fault or failing of the groups or their members. Honestly, they were all perfectly lovely and supportive—if not always active—and they served a need at the time. What I’m saying is that it wasn’t them; it was me. I overcommitted and learned that too much support and community is almost as unhelpful to me as none at all.

That brings me back to the earlier comment about never having enough time and space as a writer, because I don’t like absolutes. So here’s my caveat to that: of course you can have too much time and space for creative pursuits, as well. Look what happened to Jack Torrance in The Shining.  A joke, yes, but while I would personally love an entire season holed away in a less-remote, less-snowy, and less-haunted resort to concentrate on my writing projects, at some point, too much of anything good is not always a good thing.

I’m now down to my original local writing critique group, from which the retreat I’m currently on spawned. One writing support group feels like a good balance with the time and space I have available to dedicate to the craft. The hidden bonus is that I now have more physical and mental free time to seek out classes and groups to meet future needs, be it craft classes or agents query panels. I just have to remember to keep them limited in scope and not take on too many at once.