My husband who climbs mountains (I know) once told me about a phenomenon one of his peers had experienced, known in the field as “summit fever.” Poet me perked immediately, drawn to the ping of that phrase. Then he told me what it means, and writer me just about had to scoop my jaw off the table.
When a climber or group of climbers plans an ascent, they also have to plan the descent, which includes a timeline for everything. They look at weather and conditions that might make the climb slower than expected or otherwise hinder their plan, and, importantly, they decide up front on a turn-back time. Climbing is dangerous, especially at night or under adverse conditions, and there’s only so much water and food you can take with you; you’ll need half left for climbing back down.
For example, let’s say it’s a one-day climb; they need to be back to base camp before dark. If they start at dawn, they’ll need to be heading back six hours in at the very latest. That’s the agreed upon turn-back time, even if for some reason they haven’t reached the summit yet.
It happens all the time: plans go awry. The ground is wetter than they thought, making the layer right beneath the surface slick and muddy, prone to slipping once their weight is on it. They’re in good shape, but the air is thinner than they accounted for, leaving them winded too easily and requiring more short breaks to catch their breath. And even though the forecast said clear skies, some nasty-looking clouds have rolled in, casting everything in twilight even though it’s not dusk yet.
Still, they soldier on, pushing through fatigue and slippery terrain, and they make good progress—just not quite good enough. Five and a half hours in, they stop to assess; they’d hoped to be at the summit by now, breaking for pictures and food before coming back down. They’re still climbing. What should they do?
The options are: turn back now because they know they won’t swing it, go on for half an hour more and then turn back, or try to push through and turn back later than planned. Later than planned shouldn’t be an option, so none of them vote for it. They all know they probably can’t make it by their stated cut-off time, but they also can see the peak. They’re so close. And climbing back down always takes less time than climbing up, right? They say they’ll stop in half and hour, but they rally and pick up the pace to see if they can make it in that half hour.
They don’t make it in that half hour, despite valiant efforts. One member of the party has a splitting headache from the altitude, another has a whopper of a blister going, and another has gone into hangry mode despite having snack bars. Half an hour rolls by, unspoken, and they all push harder, furiously pretending not to know the time has passed and they should stop. The peak is right there. Half an hour more, less.
Half an hour past their turn-back time, and they’re still not up, not all the way. But they can’t give up now, can they? Why come all this way and quit? They forge ahead.
Maybe they make it to the summit, climbing back down in the dark, which could be a strange adventure of its own—a fun story to tell later if everyone returns safely. Maybe they get lost in the descending dusk and spend a cold night up on the mountain, underprepared, worrying their families only to climb back down in the morning. Maybe they die up there, from exposure or injuries. Whether they’re changed forever, at this point, is mostly luck; they already made the wrong decision.
They should’ve turned back at the cut-off time. They should’ve seen the signs and recognized their sudden poor decision-making in the face of almost: they were suffering from summit fever.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a mountain climber or even a very intuitive group of writers to see where I’m going with this, does it? I, for one, immediately saw myself and my goal-achieving work ethic clearly illustrated in my husband’s story. In fact, I think I said out loud, “That’s like my life.” Funny, almost, if it weren’t so true. In a field as self-driven and goal-oriented as writing, which of us haven’t suffered from summit fever?
Burnout is certainly a thing; if you don’t believe so it’s because you’re lucky enough not to have experienced it (yet). Creatives of all types are probably prone to it, but writers have that special “almost” taunting of rejections and personalized rejections and revise and resubmits to lure us into summit fever. It’s not just that we get fatigued and burned out; it’s that we get that way juuuuuuust when we’re this close to finally landing that thing we’ve been striving for. We can see the peak. Surely we can climb on, eh? We can always rest later.
Here I am, ten+ years into climbing mountains, telling you that there is no later and that right behind that peak you’ve been headed for is another one. It’s higher, prettier, and juuuuust out of reach.
This is how we burn out. Striving for goals is admirable, but it can’t be literally constant. Creating new goals after achieving the old ones is also admirable, but we need to stop and appreciate the view we have before we plan the summit. And perhaps most important of all, we need to assess our progress and accommodate our needs—expected and unexpected—as we go. (Do you hear that, me? AS WE GO.)
Otherwise we end up ragged with a list of peaks we never appreciated, and a need for a big long break just to function. Much better, I’d say, to come back down than hike in the dark, take a day or a week or a month to better prepare, and tackle that climb again when we’re better able.
It’s one of the hardest lessons I’ve learned, and I re-learn it over and over and over again: there’s not a rush. This isn’t a race. Climb it well, not quick. Climb it to enjoy it, not to say you touched the top. And climb it at the pace that allows you to keep climbing for the rest of your life, stopping to rest and snack and enjoy the views. Because really, even the view from base camp is pretty spectacular if you actually stop and appreciate it.
There’s my metaphor for the day. (I’m only allowed the one.) What about you, fellow mountaineers writers? Have you experienced our version of summit fever? Have you learned to recognize the signs and symptoms? What do you do when you realize the top is juuuust out of reach but dark is falling?
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About Annie Neugebauer
Annie Neugebauer is a Bram Stoker Award-nominated author with work appearing and forthcoming in more than a hundred publications, including magazines such as Cemetery Dance, Apex, and Black Static, as well as anthologies such as Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volume 3 and #1 Amazon bestseller Killing It Softly. She’s a member of the Horror Writers Association and a columnist for Writer Unboxed and LitReactor. She's represented by Alec Shane of Writers House. She lives in Texas with two crazy cute cats and a husband who’s exceptionally well-prepared for the zombie apocalypse. You can visit her at www.AnnieNeugebauer.com for news, poems, organizational tools for writers, and more.
Just the lesson I needed today, the way I’ve been scrambling to get chapters written for my schedule’s sake. Thanks!
One thing I think I’d add is that a reason this is so prevalent in us writers could be tied to Thomas Mann’s “A writer is a person for whom the act of writing is harder than it is for other people.” I’ve always thought the thing that really motivates writers is our sheer fascination with stories we read and the flashes of potential in any writing– even though those glimpses are often from stories well beyond what we can write ourselves yet. So we’re driven more by what we want to write than what we can write now, which leaves us often frustrated but always with a source of motivation still out there.
Our reach exceeds our grasp, because what makes us writers us how far we reach.
So summit fever would be the downside of being drawn to just the biggest dream. When the grand goal makes us forget how we’re wearing ourselves out for some schedule or standard, or being drawn away from another aspect of the work. And of course, when we stare at the summit so long we don’t appreciate that base camp view.
I think writers are always driven by the mountain that’s out of reach. And learning to live with that passion means we’ll never be bored… but we still ought to watch our feet as we go.
I, too, needed this today. I have a summit in view and recently had to back off of a self-imposed deadline because I found myself rushing, panicking, and being generally ineffective at everything – not to mention grouchy to everyone around me. So…I took a breath. Then another one. It changed my perspective, which has actually made me more productive. Now, thanks to you, I have a name for this feeling, and when it hits again (which it will) I’ll know what to call it. Practitioners of magic say that if you can name a thing, it gives you a degree of power over it. We’ll see, then. And thank you!!
Fantastic analogy and great advice. I’m in a mental space now where some of my goals have been met after years of striving, and because of that I’ve found it difficult to focus on what’s next. I’ve spent months not quite committing to any new project and beating myself up about it. But maybe I needed to take some time to enjoy the view for a bit first.
What a great metaphor! I think we get to intent on ‘scaling the peak’ that we really forget to enjoy the climb. I’ve seen several gifted writers almost crash and burn because they try to do too much, too fast. The journey is long, and the view is delightful. Time to remember that. Thanks!
My favorite quote: ” This isn’t a race. Climb it well, not quick. Climb it to enjoy it, not to say you touched the top.” I needed this today. Or more correctly, I needed it three years ago when I hit the wall on the book that just about did me in. Thank you for the reminder to rest and fill the well!
Thanks, Annie. Writing my last book became too exhausting because I was on a tight deadline and ended up pushing too hard. I think that we writers sometimes have a tendency to punish ourselves. There’s always some fabulously productive author able to publish two or three books a year and rack up 23 books in two different series… But one should not compare and should do as you suggest and climb to enjoy.
Annie, thanks for this–it’s a great analogy. I think having a writing life is pretty sweet to begin with–kind of like being on base camp. I’ve never felt burned out, but I have often put aside projects to work on others. It’s been the best thing I’ve done. Lots of times I’ve returned to an old project with just the right tool or image to complete it; lots of times I’ve made progress only to put it aside again. There’s never a danger of forgetting a story that tugs at my heart. It’s there, waiting for when the time is right. I find that peace and joy are the fruits of knowing you’re on the right path.
Thanks, Annie. I’ve been sorting “paper” this week, versions of my novel and some of its ideas that started way at the bottom of the mountain. It’s amazing the heights I reached and then abandoned, or the hopes that went with the climb until there were clouds that made me look down and see I needed to go back and start again. But I’m still climbing–looking toward the summit. It’s part of my life journey. Great post.
My version of “summit fever” is a little different. It occurs when I’m forty, thirty, twenty pages from the end of my manuscript and I rush ahead and don’t take as much time as I do with page 1, 10, 20! I actually need to slow myself down when the summit (i.e., the end) is in sight so I don’t make bad decisions.
Reading that analogy, I found myself able to visualise them in the swirling snow, trying to shelter behind a rocky outcrop for protection from the biting wind. I could “hear” them trying to make themselves heard above that wind. I’m exhausted.
I thought once I retired, my writing would be smooth sailing. Ha! I didn’t factor into that thought the following: Babysitting duties for four grandchildren under the age of four (two lots of boys and girls), diagnosis of B-Cell Lymphoma which has caused a great deal of fatigue, an editor/friend (I love her to bits) who added characters, changed plot and changed my MC’s personality. Result was definitely writer burnout. If it hadn’t been for James Scott Bell’s “Write Your Novel from the Middle,” I would have deleted every file and shredded every printout relating to my MS. I can’t really afford to slow down too much, I turned 70 two weeks ago and I’ve found the older you get, the faster time seems to go.
This happened to me only last night. I’ve been working diligently every day revising my novel. Every 2 weeks I submit scenes to my critter group. I read the latest critique last night and burst into tears. They love my hero, but still dislike my heroine, and why am I creating all this conflict that makes her mad at him? I whined to my husband and he told me I’m too mired down. Stop and read other contemp romance novels, get a sense of how other heroines are portrayed. I thought I was doing this. I can see the summit, only a couple scenes left to write, but my critters think I should rewrite much of the plot. Felt like quitting.
I’m SO glad I missed my self-imposed deadline (for the first time in my career) of publishing book II of my series in the fall and held it back to keep working on it. I knew it wasn’t ready to match the Wow factor of the first book.
With some rest and perspective I could see how to fill the holes and polish the voice. When it’s released in the Spring it will be a beautiful peak to stand upon.
Thanks for the reminder to pace ourselves and the validation of a choice like mine. I feel guilty about it. All. The. Time. But I don’t truly regret it. My world didn’t end when I turned back to try the summit again another day.
Annie, that is the perfect metaphor from start to finish.