You Run a Classroom. You Can Write a Novel.
I know, I know. You’ve got a bunch of excuses ready to go: your idea isn’t strong enough, you’re not creative enough to write a full book, you don’t have the time anyway…and the list goes on.
Maybe you’ve already started and stopped once. Or twice. Maybe there’s a draft sitting in a folder you haven’t opened in months because every time you do, you feel that familiar tightening in your chest. What if this isn’t any good?
This fear makes sense, especially when you’re used to being competent everywhere else.
You manage a classroom full of students with different needs, abilities, and emotions. You pivot lessons when they fall flat. You design curriculum from scratch. You track forms, deadlines, parent emails, and the student who always forgets their Chromebook.
At home, you’re the chauffeur for your kids, the personal chef refining the dinner menu for each hungry little mouth, the scheduler of practices and appointments, the one who knows exactly where the missing library book is hiding. You can hold an entire week in your head without writing it down.
And yet, when it comes to writing a novel, you think, maybe I just don’t have what it takes. After all, it’s easier to give up on the dream altogether than face potential failure later.
Let’s pause there.
You Are More Than Capable
First of all, you are more than capable. Think about it. Running a classroom is complex. Managing a family is complex. Writing a novel is complex. You just haven’t been taught how to write a novel.
But that’s okay. You can learn. As Glennon Doyle wisely says, “We can do hard things.”
But there’s a second pesky issue, isn’t there? One shrouded in guilt. Writing is a novel that is something you do for yourself. That’s where it gets uncomfortable.
You are used to pouring your energy outward. Into lesson plans. Into grading. Into soccer practice. Into making sure everyone else has what they need. Writing asks you to turn some of that energy inward. It asks you to claim an hour that could be used for folding laundry or answering one more email.
Of course guilt shows up.
It sounds like this: I should be doing something more productive. I’ll write when things calm down. The kids need me. My students need me.
But here’s the truth you already know as an educator: meaningful work requires protected time. If you don’t schedule it, it doesn’t happen.
You are not selfish for wanting something that belongs to you. You are not irresponsible for carving out space to build a story. And you are not behind because you haven’t figured out how to do it yet.
You don’t need a more brilliant idea.
You Need a Blueprint
You need to know what comes first, what comes second, and what to build on top of that. Without sequence, everything feels equally important, and that’s where you stall. You circle your notes. You reorganize files. You reread the same chapter and wonder if it’s salvageable.
Clarity often comes after structure, not before it.
You already understand how learning works. You teach it every day. Skills build. Concepts layer. Confusion decreases when steps are clear. Students don’t master writing because they are magically gifted. They master it because someone shows them how the pieces fit together.
Writing a novel works the same way.
Your idea doesn’t need to impress you yet. It needs development. It needs scaffolding. It needs story architecture so you can see how character, plot, and conflict actually connect. Once you understand that framework, the question shifts. Instead of asking, Is this good enough? You begin asking, What’s the next step?
And when you know the next step, it becomes easier to protect the time to take it. Writing stops feeling like indulgence and starts feeling like purposeful work.
If you’ve been starting and stopping, it isn’t because you aren’t creative. It isn’t because you lack discipline. It’s because you’ve been trying to build something complex without a blueprint and without permission to prioritize it.
Next week, Plan Your Novel: A Guided Course for Teacher Moms begins.
This course is built like a curriculum. Step by step. Clear sequence. No guessing about what to work on first. You’ll shape your idea into a structured story plan you can actually draft from with confidence.
If you want a supportive, realistic system designed for women who balance classrooms, carpools, and creative dreams, I would love to walk through the process with you.
Class starts February 22.
You already manage complexity every single day. Writing a novel is not beyond you. In fact, it is necessary. The world needs your story.
And you don’t have to figure it out alone.
