On Writer Mode and Author Mode

And finding the balance between the two.

The view from the porch last week. Summer!

Last week, just before the long weekend officially kicked off summer, Andrew and I made the drive from our apartment in New York City to our house in Springs. We have done this drive countless times already this year, but this time the car was chock-full with stuff, with more clothes than usual, and perishables from the refrigerator, and over a dozen houseplants, because we’re going to be spending most of the summer out here, with shorter trips back into the city between now and Labor Day, and Andrew (a vastly more attentive plant-parent than I) didn’t want to let those poor plants die of thirst.

This will be our second summer out in Springs. We’ve fallen in love with the area quickly. It wouldn’t be summer without the New York Times writing about the Hamptons, and while last week the Times reminded everyone that the Hamptons is no longer hip, I actually find the simplicity and unhipness is what is so deeply appealing about our life out here. (I mean, look. If you know me, you also know about my pathological loyalty to the Upper East Side. Unhip is my middle name!) We’ve made some wonderful friends out here, many of whom are actually pretty hip, or at least way more hip than me, and there are things going on, there are restaurants and coffee shops, there are bookstores and artist’s studios, there are locals brewing beer and baking bread, and we do take advantage of those things,¹ but for the most part—for me, at least—there is a lot of simplicity and solitude to this life.

I’ve been thinking a lot, at the start of this second summer, about how I feel when I’m in the city versus how I feel when I’m at the beach. (I recognize what an insanely privileged thing this is. I recognize what a privilege it is to have a solid roof above my head, let alone two. I take none of this for granted. I will always try to be honest with you about what themes are percolating in my life, as well as the circumstances that allow for that percolation.) As I get older, I’ve come to recognize that I have different modes, different types of energy, different ways-of-being and ways-of-relating-to-the-world, which I move among. I have been moving in and out of these modes for my entire life, but it’s only with age that I’ve begun to notice those movements with some degree of self-awareness. (I remind myself of this when I look in the mirror and see the wrinkles. I’ll be honest! I don’t love the wrinkles. But I wouldn’t ever, EVER trade the gains of this age for smoother skin. For one thing, you can pay a dermatologist for smoother skin, but you can’t actually pay anyone to make you more self-aware.)

There are many modes that I recognize within myself, but today I want to focus on two: Writer Mode, and Author Mode. I’ve got my fourth novel coming in the fall, and I am getting deeper into work on my fifth, and by this point in the career journey, I have a more acute sense of those two modes. (I prefer the word “mode” to “mood,” because, to me, a mood implies something highly transitory and fleeting, whereas a mode is steadier and longer-lasting.) Because, of course, the actual act of writing, of sitting down and typing new words on a blank page, is only one part of this career. It’s the most important part (by far!), but it’s sometimes it’s fairly small portion of the actual day-to-day, depending on where you are in the life-cycle of a given book.

Let’s start with Author Mode. This mode is more strategic, efficient, and organized. When I’m in Author Mode, I’m brainstorming lists of contacts to send copies of my new novel. I’m making spreadsheets and sending emails and fixing my website. I’m checking my bank account and keep tracking of royalty statements. Perhaps I am making Author Mode sound like it’s incredibly business-like and therefore not much fun, but that’s not true. In Author Mode, I am also extroverted and energized and chatty. I’m meeting other writers for coffees and lunches and walks. I’m comparing notes and talking shop and gaining wisdom from my fellow-travelers. I’m walking down the sidewalk in New York City on my way to meet a friend. I’ve got plans; I’ve got people to see; I’ve got that Manhattan energy thrumming in my veins.

Writer Mode is more solitary, formless, and dreamlike. When I’m in Writer Mode, I’m sitting at my desk, staring at the blank white space of a Word document. I am typing a sentence, and sometimes I’m aware of where I’m steering that sentence, and sometimes that sentence is steering itself. I’m writing a word, deleting it, writing a different one, deleting it, because I want to get the phrasing exactly right. I am staring off into space and wondering if my character would really do this; if she would really react this way; if she would really desire such a thing. I am writing scenes that go on too long because I need to spend that time with this character in order to get to know them. I am feeling my way through the story with them. When they laugh, I laugh. When something sad happens to them, I feel blue. The intensity of my focus can cause the rest of the world to drop away. When I stand up to take a lunch break, I feel a bit spacey and uncertain. I walk to the kitchen and rummage around in the fridge, and I think—what just happened? Where did the time go?

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Last summer, our first summer out here, I was working on revisions to The Helsinki Affair. The book was in pretty good shape, but there was this stretch in the final quarter that needed work. Something was missing. There needed to be one more turn of the wheel, a moment when we found a deeper resolution to a character’s arc. Revising a novel is an interesting process. Certain things you can solve with effort and tactic: you have to go faster here, you have to clarify this, you have to reveal more of this character’s backstory. The known unknowns, if you will. But there also the unknown unknowns. Your editor helps you to realize that something is missing from the story—but what? The missing ingredient needs to be germane. It needs to feel like it was meant to be there the entire time. But you don’t know what you’re looking for. So what do you do?

There was one gray and rainy day last summer. It was probably May or June, early enough to be a little bit chilly. I put on my rain boots and rain coat and went for a walk along the beach. Our beach isn’t very long, but when the tide is low enough, you can walk from our beach to the next beach over. That morning the tide was low. I walked for a good long time, then turned around, back toward home. I was listening to a podcast, and trodding along at the edge of the water. The beach around here is rocky. The rocks were shiny and slippery from the water. I was half listening to my podcast, and half zoning out, and staring down at those slippery gray rocks, at my green rubber boots, at the little waves breaking and receding at my feet. I was thinking about a rocky beach. I was thinking about cold water and gray skies. I was thinking about the inherent drama of the ocean; the sense of being at the edge of something. The cold, the wind, the water. And then I was thinking about my main character, Amanda. I was thinking about her on a cold, gray, rocky beach somewhere.

The image, in that moment, was just an image. I didn’t yet know what I was doing to do with it. But it was the seed of my solution, and it wound up being the key that unlocked that tricky last stretch of the novel.

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When I’m in the city, Author Mode seems to come more automatically. In Springs, it’s more likely to be Writer Mode. Which is not to say that both modes don’t exist in both places—they do! But it does require more intentionality.

In the city, where there are always distractions, where there are always things to do and people to see, I have learned to fiercely defend my writing time. I treat those hours as sacrosanct and non-negotiable. Those hours are when I enter Writer Mode. Working at the library or a coffee shop also helps me enter into Writer Mode.

In Springs, my days are a lot quieter. I am away from the city, and away from so many of the structures that define my life. Writing is one of the main ways I fill my days. My imagination takes over. It gets bigger, wilder, spookier. This feeling is deep and rich and rewarding, but even so—Writer Mode takes a lot out of me, and I can’t spend all day in it. And, also, I like engaging with the world! I like the excitement and energy that comes with feeling connected to other writers and book people.

And so, out here in Springs, I have to be a little more intentional about getting into Author Mode. I have to find ways of accessing that energy exchange when I am not necessarily ten blocks away from my library community, or a short subway ride from my writer buddies. It requires me to be a little more resourceful and intentional. But there is something good about putting yourself in a situation where you have to get a little bit resourceful. This is where the breakthroughs happen.

I’ve written before about the beautiful but lonely month we spent in Montauk, which inspired me to start a blog. And it was last summer, out here in Springs, that I sought writerly camaraderie in the Paris Review interviews, which inspired me to evolve the blog into this more writing-focused newsletter. Spending longer stretches of time alone reminds me that this work, this Author Mode work, is deeply valuable. I am still pretty passive when it comes to social media and online presence, and, frankly, I can be frustrated by the amount of time and effort required by Author Mode—but these longer doses of solitude have sharpened my awareness of the importance of connection. And I mean genuine connection. I mean finding a way to make it feel like me. You can tell me a thousand times over to get more active on TikTok or Goodreads or Twitter. But if I can’t bring myself to do it, then I can’t bring myself to do it. Faking it won’t work. And, also, I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize that there is no guaranteed template for success. So screw it! You gotta do it your way.

There is a lot of summer ahead of us. The water in the bay is still cold, and the days are still lengthening, and there is still asparagus and rhubarb at the farm stand, and the rhododendron and azaleas are still in bloom. I don’t know where the summer will take me (do we ever know where a season is going to take us?), and I don’t know how my relationship to this place, and my sense of myself within this place, will unfold and evolve in the months ahead. But there is beauty to this uncertainty. I wanted to write this down in order to remind myself of that beauty.

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Today, rather than leaving you with a letter of recommendation, I’d like to ask you for a favor! Later in June, Andrew and I are going to be traveling through the Balkans with two of our dear friends. It’s a big trip, and one I am incredibly excited for. Our itinerary includes Kosovo (Prishtina), Montenegro (Kotor), Bosnia (Mostar and Sarajevo), and Turkey (Istanbul). Have you been to any of these places? Do you have recommendations for things to do or places to eat? We have our hotels booked already, and one of our friends did Peace Corps in the area, so she has good local knowledge, but if you have any must-do items—please let me know!

1. All of those places I linked to are among our local favorites in Springs. 10/10 recommend each of these!