Some writing obstacles aren’t plot problems or lack of inspiration—they’re upholstered. After unexpectedly finishing an entire chapter of Fall From Grace in a single day, I discovered the biggest difference wasn’t my writing. It was where I sat. The recliner I’d always considered a harmless pre-writing stop had quietly become the world’s most comfortable procrastination machine.
Solar Sail Theory isn’t about finding stronger sources of momentum. It’s about becoming better at capturing thousands of weak sources of momentum that already exist.
One newsletter subscriber won’t change your life. One podcast appearance won’t transform your business. One new reader or conference conversation or bookstore event won’t either.
Individually, they’re almost insignificant.
That’s why the sail is enormous.
We all know about compounding, but very few of us truly understand it. The real magic isn’t in one newsletter, one blog post, one book, or one workout. It’s in the quiet accumulation of thousands of small increments that, over time, become something far greater than the sum of their parts. Solar Sail Theory isn’t about finding a shortcut—it’s about patiently building enough sail to catch the wind that’s already there.
Kevin Kelly’s latest essay introduced me to a concept I hadn’t quite considered before: the “exoself.” Not a humanoid robot, but an AI that becomes an extension of our own minds through memory, context, and continuity. The more I thought about it, the more I realized we may already be taking the first steps toward that future—one useful conversation at a time.
Luck isn’t magic, and it isn’t reserved for a chosen few. In publishing, what looks like luck is often the result of years spent building momentum. Every book, every reader, every relationship and every opportunity adds another tiny push. Solar Sail Theory explains why some authors seem luckier than others—and why you can increase your chances of capturing luck without relying on a mythical “big break.”
Most writers love writing but dread rewriting. Yet revision isn’t evidence the first draft failed—it’s where good stories become great ones. Like weeding a garden, editing isn’t about destroying what you’ve grown. It’s about giving the best parts room to flourish.
Some years are quieter than others. Some years are meant for rest.
And some years? Some years hand you a shovel, a wheelbarrow, and a horizon full of work worth doing.
In this reflective new post, Mark Posey writes about turning sixty, building twenty raised garden beds, rebuilding the future of Stories Rule Press, and why this season of life feels less about chasing and more about building — steadily, patiently, one load of compost at a time.
This weekend, Mark is trading the keyboard for lumber, screws, and soil as he builds twenty raised beds in the backyard. There’s a quiet satisfaction in work you can see at the end of the day—and a surprising connection between gardening and writing. Both are acts of optimism: you do the work now, trust the process, and hope something good will grow.
The voice that breaks your writing streak doesn’t show up on a bad day.
It shows up after a good one—and tells you to take tomorrow off.
Struggling to reach flow when you write? It might not be a discipline problem. Flow isn’t just about focus—it’s about whether your brain trusts that everything else is handled. If your mind is still tracking loose ends, unfinished tasks, or “don’t forget this” thoughts, it won’t let go. And without that mental quiet, true immersion in your story stays just out of reach.
