If It’s Still a WIP, It’s Allowed to Change.
This morning I called my WIP an “old fic” again—and felt that weird mix of fear and boredom that always comes with it.
Then I caught myself: it’s not old, it’s a WIP. Just saying that shifted everything.
“Old fic” feels like a verdict. Judgment. Obligation. Comparison to the past. Limiting.
“WIP” feels alive. Permission. Curiosity. Room to grow.
The story isn’t too old. I was just holding it in the wrong frame—one that made me feel trapped, like I couldn’t change it, couldn’t let it breathe.
But the truth? I already started evolving it. I shifted a character from school staff to reporter because it fit better. The story wants to grow. I just hadn’t given myself the words to say yes.
My WIP Rule — the fear-resistant manifesto for works in progress:
If I’m still writing it, it’s a WIP. Age or past drafts don’t matter.
Nothing is final until it reflects the best I can do with what I know now. I may revise, replace, or release freely—without guilt.
My current taste outranks past intentions. Growth is proof I’m improving, not a betrayal.
If it feels old, that just means it needs permission to evolve. Pause. Breathe. Reassess. Then? Keep writing.
I only stop after I’ve let it become what it wants to be. Pausing is a choice, not a flinch.
Anchor: “If I’m still writing it, it’s allowed to change.”
Calling it a WIP (and leaning into what that really means) let the story breathe. If there’s one takeaway, it’s this: writing is alive. It grows. It evolves. Change is part of the process. Let it.
