I’ve Started 23 Writing Projects. I’ve Finished 2. Here’s Why.

I have a folder on my computer called "Writing Projects."

It contains 23 documents. Each one is a project I started with full conviction that this was the one. There is a book that would I would call my masterpiece. And the series that would take off. Most are ideas that were too good not to pursue.

Out of those 23 projects, I've finished exactly two.

The rest sit there. Some are outlines. Some are half-written first drafts. A few reached 20,000 words before I abandoned them. One is literally just a title and three bullet points. That one isn't my finest work, as you can imagine. 

I used to think my long list of unfinished projects meant I was undisciplined, flaky and a chronic starter who couldn't commit.

Now I understand what was actually happening: starting felt safe. Finishing felt terrifying.

Starting Is Pure Possibility

When you start a new project, everything about it is perfect.

The idea is brilliant. The execution will be flawless. The audience will love it. You can see exactly how successful it's going to be.

And most importantly, there's no evidence (yet) that what you're attempting is wrong.

You know that first day when you open a fresh document and start outlining your book? You're not a failed writer. No, you're a writer with a promising new project, full of energy and hope and certainty that this time will be different.

Starting feels like potential, like you're about to create something amazing. And potential is comfortable because it can't be disproven yet.

Finishing Means Facing Reality

The problem with finishing is that it forces you to find out if the thing you're making is actually good.

As long as a project is unfinished, you can tell yourself it's going to be great once you complete it. You can imagine the finished version in your head and feel proud of it.

But the moment you finish? You have to confront what you actually made.

Maybe it's not as good as you imagined, perhaps it's mediocre, and maybe it's exactly what you envisioned, and it still doesn't matter because nobody cares.

Finishing means you can't hide behind "it'll be great when it's done." It's either great or it isn't, and you have to find out which.

That discovery process is terrifying.

Why I Abandoned 21 Projects

Looking back at my graveyard of unfinished work, I can see the exact moment I abandoned each one.

Project 1 (book): Abandoned at 15,000 words when I realised I didn't actually know enough about the topic to write a whole book about it.

Project 4 (newsletter series): Abandoned after three issues when I got no engagement and felt embarrassed by poor results.

Project 7 (novel): Abandoned at 30,000 words when I reread what I'd written and hated all of it and couldn't see a path to save it.

Project 12 (blog): Abandoned after five posts when I couldn't think of a sixth idea and convinced myself the whole concept was stupid.

Project 18 (course): Abandoned at the outline stage when I imagined launching it to crickets and decided to quit before I could fail publicly.

I can see my abandonment pattern clearly. I dumped every project the moment it stopped feeling like pure potential and started feeling like potential (or even certain) failure.

The Moment Projects Die

There's a specific point in every project where the initial excitement wears off, and you're left with the actual work. For me, it usually happens around 20–30% through the creation process.

The beginning is exciting. You're exploring the idea. Everything is new. You're making progress just by showing up.

But around the 20% mark, you've done the fun part. Now you're in the middle, the slog of it all and the part where you have to keep showing up even though the novelty is gone.

This is where the project becomes real, where you see its flaws and where you start to doubt whether it's actually good. And this is where I'd start a new project rather than completing the existing project.

Because a new project gives me that hit of excitement again, that feeling of possibility and the sense that I'm working on something promising.

The old project just feels hard. So I'd tell myself it wasn't working and move on to something that felt easier.

Writer mind games. 

The New Project Dopamine Hit

Starting a new project feels productive.

You're outlining! You're brainstorming! You're creating documents and organising ideas! Look at all this work you're doing!

But you're not actually producing anything; instead, you're just generating more unfinished work.

I realised I was addicted to the feeling of starting, obsessed with the rush of a new idea and getting high of the sense that this time would be different.

So that's why I kept starting. And starting. And starting. Because starting felt like progress and finishing felt like risk.

What Changed With The Two I Finished

Out of 23 projects, I've finished two. What was different about those two? Why were they the exception to the rule? Why did I finish them and not the other 21 projects?

I committed publicly before I could quit. With my first finished project, I told people I was writing it. I posted updates. I created accountability that made quitting embarrassing.

I lowered my standards for "done." The first draft didn't have to be perfect. It just had to exist and I kept reminding myself I could fix it later. I gave myself permission to finish a mediocre version instead of abandoning it before it could be mediocre.

I broke it into smaller milestones. Instead of "finish the book," I focused on "finish this chapter." Each small finish built momentum and curbed my wandering eye for something new to start.

I pushed through the 20% slump. I recognized the moment I wanted to quit and committed to working for two more weeks before making any decisions. By the end of two weeks, I had momentum again.

I accepted that it might not be good. I finished knowing it might fail. I decided that finishing a failed project was more valuable than abandoning another promising one.

These two finished projects aren't my best work, but they exist, and existing work is infinitely more valuable than potential work.

The Lie I Kept Telling Myself

Every time I started a new project, I told myself: "This is the one. This is the idea that's actually good. The other 17 projects just weren't right."

I was obviously lying.

The other projects weren't bad ideas. Instead, they were just hard to finish. And instead of pushing through the hard part, I convinced myself they were flawed and moved on to something easier.

The new project wasn't better. It was just newer, which meant it hadn't entered the hard phase yet.

If I'd stuck with project 3 or project 9 or project 14, they might have become something. But I'll never know because I quit before I could find out.

Why Finishing Is Harder Than Starting

Here's what I've learned about starting versus finishing. 

• Starting requires belief. Finishing requires endurance.
• Starting is energizing. Finishing is depleting.
• Starting feels like potential. Finishing feels like judgment.
• Starting is about ideas. Finishing is about execution.
• Starting lets you imagine success. Finishing forces you to confront reality.

I'm good at believing. I'm good at getting energized by ideas. And I'm proficient at imagining success.

But I'm bad at endurance, at execution and terrinle at confronting reality.

So I kept doing the thing I was good at (starting) and avoiding the thing I was bad at (finishing).

What I'm Doing Differently Now

I'm not starting any new projects until I finish three of the ones already in progress.

Not 23. I'm not finishing all 23. Most of them deserve to die. But three of them - the ones I actually care about, the ones that still have potential - I'm committing to finishing.

Project A (book): 40% done. I'm finishing the first draft by the end of next month, even if it's terrible.

Project B (article series): Three articles written, seven planned. I'm publishing all ten before starting anything else.

Project C (guide): Outlined but not written. I'm writing it in 30 days, one section per day.

I'm not allowing myself the dopamine hit of starting something new until I've proven I can finish something old.

The Rule I'm Following Now

Before I start any new project, I have to answer one question:

Am I starting this because it's genuinely better than what I'm already working on, or because finishing what I'm working on is hard?

If it's the latter, I don't start it. I write the idea down, save it for later, and go back to the hard work of finishing.

New ideas will always feel more exciting than the project you're stuck in the middle of. That doesn't mean they're better. It just means they're new.

If You Have A (Starting) Writing Problem, Too

If you're reading this and thinking about your own folder of unfinished projects, here's what I want you to know:

• You're not broken. 
• You're not uniquely bad at finishing. 
• You're human, and finishing is genuinely harder than starting.

But you can change this pattern.

Pick one project. Not all of them. Just one. The one that still has energy. The one you'd regret never finishing. Commit to finishing just that one. Not perfectly. Not brilliantly. Just done.

Lower your standards for what "done" means if you have to. A finished mess is better than an abandoned masterpiece.

And when you feel the urge to start something new instead? Write the idea down and save it for after you finish.

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I write about the emotional and practical reality of being a writer - drafting, doubt, discipline, and publishing while still figuring it out.

Mostly for people who write because they have to, need to, want to | https://linktr.ee/ellenfranceswrites