What if writing a book isn’t the thing?

+ why I can't believe I'm saying this

“What if writing a book isn’t the thing? What if, instead, it is the overflow?"

I shared this recently with a group of kindred authors. We meet once a month to learn, grow, and support each other.

Many of us have been moved lately to meditate and reflect on what it means to be a writer, to be an author, to feel called to write.

Can this call change over time?

How do we define our calling?

Should we?

Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

As a kid, I sat in the elementary school library next to the Nancy Drew spines, my safe place. Even then, when I was just starting to read, books were my friends and teachers.

Later, when the Ninja Turtles hit the scene in the early 90s, I was April O’Neil, carrying my notebook and writing about what I saw.

First an observer and reporter, then into my teens and twenties, an angsty poet, songwriter, and wannabe playwright.

[Enter: Bachelors in English.]

“Are you going to teach English?” my dad asked. “Maybe go on to study communications or journalism?”

“No,” I shrugged.

“I want to be a writer.”

You can imagine his enthusiasm at the prospect.

At that time, being a writer (to me) meant living in a hip NYC loft/closet with my cat, reading Virginia Woolf or the Beatniks on public transportation, sipping espresso, and smoking thin cigarettes, all while scratching into moleskins and lamenting love.

But, thankfully, along with these grandiose visions (confused by a lot of cannabis smoke), what continued to develop in my heart, more than my hope to be a writer, was a desire to help people.

A move to Michigan to care for an elder family member. Sweeping floors and washing feet as a home care aide, assisting kids with special needs in childcare programs and adults in living rooms and bowling alleys. Then making a decision to spend my life serving people in recovery, after realizing the deep need for recovery in my own life and experiencing the death of friends to overdose.

Writing and my background in English lit and creative writing would help in unexpected ways: Grant writing, program development, advocacy.

Lots and lots of journalling.

Folders full of rejections from literary journals, studios, agents, and publishers.

And yet, my love of writing remained while I pursued graduate school to get equipped to serve people in recovery better. It was there where my social work professors told me it was a good and rare thing for a social worker to have an English degree (the first time I’d heard this). Perhaps all of the hours reading Chaucer and Austin were not lost after all.

What I have come to understand is that writing can be more than entertainment or allusions or even art (although I do love a good beach read or Romantic poet).

Words can help people.

Words can share stories that help others not feel as alone.

Words can meet you where your felt need matches your hope or desire.

In the recovery field, words can impact stigma by smashing it to bits.

Words can help people access treatment for their addiction or mental health struggles.

My early desire: “to be a writer” and “to help people,” have now merged into a new dream. Just not in the way I’d planned. Not on the page, but in the living room.

In 2020, when faced with a new season of motherhood, marriage, all in a new place without my recovery community, without what I’d known, I felt the nudge to pick up the pen again. I needed something to tether me. Writing was like a friend returning. I felt God’s joy in it.

This time, it was clear: My years of waiting for the writing life was over, though it wasn’t going to happen in NYC and I’d be smoke-free for years.

God whispered: Now.

While changing diapers, living in the mountains, figuring out how to be a woman in recovery, and miles away from my old dreams.

I was not sure what it all meant, and I definitely didn’t know what was next other than to start.

One word at a time.

Photo by lilartsy on Unsplash

Over thirty+ years since I first had that writing fire in me, here I am.

A new desire placed in my heart to learn and connect with people who know more than me about the craft and business of writing. Learning that being an author is a different vocation that being a writer (though there is some overlap, thank goodness).

I even started to bring other recovery writers together in community.

As I’ve learned to do in recovery, I asked for help, counsel, support, accountability, and fellowship around the craft. Where I felt a vacancy, I brought new friends together.

Doors started opening slowly, rejections not stopping but motivating me to keep going even though every worldly indicator said “no” and “not yet” or “not you.”

God continued to show up, or more accurately, went ahead of me and waited for me to catch up.

But in all of this (five years + going on 4 books later and this lovely

Substack

letter), what is surprising me today is that the books (or even the writing) isn’t the thing.

There is more than this.

And not more as in more to write or more to do, even more people to help, but…

More to become.

At a recent women’s conference, I spoke about calling and purpose in life. I quoted one of my favorite teachers, Christine Caine:

We must be careful not to confuse the importance of our calling with the One who called us in the first place.

Knowing and living out our God-given purpose keeps us motivated, fulfilled, and satisfied in our work. But when we allow our occupation to become our identity, burnout is inevitable. We were never meant to find our ultimate worth in what we do, but in Whose we are.

Remember this truth today: Your calling is not more important than the One who called you. The moment we prioritize the assignment over the Assignor, we've missed the point entirely.

What if it’s not the stage or even on the page where our influence or impact lies?

What if it is in all the small, sacred yeses?

The hidden work.

What if the work still happens in the living room off of social media?

What if the books are an overflow? The result of abundance?

Not THE thing, but one of the things, one of the many ways to serve.

After the meal.

The ministry is human to human.

What if there is no hierarchy of service?

Every act of service is important: Doing the dishes or changing diapers or setting the decor up at that women’s event or having coffee with a friend or taking your parent out for lunch. Sweeping floors and washing feet. Publishing the book. Or not. They all matter.

I almost can’t believe I’m saying this, but this season is reminding me to hold these things lightly. To be near to the people I love. To show up. And show up locally. Not just online but in real life. Not just in books, but in every day.

Pick up the pen but look up from the page too.

Keep writing and keep living.

And leave the rest up to the Author of life.

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How has your vision for your life or writing changed over time?

How are the desires of your heart defined? How are they refined?

If you are in a season of discernment, check out this awesome free resource from Yates and Yates author coaching. It’s helping lead me into a season of greater discernment around my writing and author career. It might help you too.

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Caroline Beidler, MSW, is an author, speaker, and Managing Editor of Recovery.com, where she combines expert guidance with research to help people find the best path to healing and treatment. Her next book, When You Love Someone in Recovery: A Hopeful Guide for Understanding Addiction, is coming Spring 2026 with Nelson Books. Drawing from her own recovery journey through addiction, mental health challenges, and trauma, along with training as a mental health provider and addiction recovery expert, Caroline inspires others to believe that healing is possible. Learn more about her books here.