There’s a persistent myth in publishing that the hardest part is starting to write. In national security—particularly in the immediate aftermath of a crisis—many practitioners and researchers find the opposite is true. Writing comes easily, because putting thoughts to paper is a way of imposing order on uncertainty. Writing is often how we begin to make sense of complexity—by giving experience shape, sequence, and distance.
This means that in practice, one of the harder judgments—especially for those researching and working in national security—is knowing when not to publish yet.
Not because the experience is unclear, but because working with the manuscript responsibly requires more distance than is currently available.
At Nat Sec Press, we're alert to serious, consequential projects: books emerging from crises, conflict, and significant national events. These are exactly the works that matter—and exactly the ones most vulnerable to being published too soon.
The closer a book is to the event that inspired it, the more care it requires before entering the public record.
In high-stakes fields like national security, timing is not a marketing decision—it is an ethical one. Publishing too early can crystallise an incomplete understanding into the public record, amplifying uncertainty rather than contributing to understanding. Distance allows experience to become analysis rather than reaction.
Although Nat Sec Press does not publish memoirs (which raise different considerations and fall outside the scope of this post), many authors encounter moments where continuing to write is valuable, even when publication should wait.
1. You’re still inside the event
If you are still living the situation you’re writing about—professionally, legally, politically, or emotionally—you are likely too close to see its contours clearly.
This isn’t a question of intelligence or integrity. It’s about proximity.
When you’re embedded:
- Proximity narrows objectivity and heightens subjectivity, even for experienced professionals
- Cause and effect can blur together
- Responsibility feels personal rather than structural
- Language tends to justify, defend, or prosecute rather than analyse
Time creates distance. Distance supports objectivity.
If the work feels urgent because you need it out, that’s usually a sign to keep writing, but pause on publishing.
2. Your nervous system hasn’t stood down
Publishing is a cognitive act, but writing often begins as a psychological one.
If drafting triggers:
- Anger spikes
- Rumination or looping
- Sleep disruption
- A sense of threat or exposure
…then your nervous system may still be in fight or flight mode.
Books written under such conditions often sound confident and forceful—but they narrow, rather than expand, the reader’s understanding. They also place an unfair psychological load on the author during editing, review, and public reception.
Editing and review can be exacting and emotionally demanding; public reception can be swift, reductive, and unforgiving.
This is not about discouraging publication. It is about recognising that time is an ally when experience has not yet stabilised into analysis.
3. The downstream effects haven’t fully surfaced
In national security, law, technology, and harm-adjacent research, publication doesn’t end at the last page.
Premature books often underestimate:
- Who will be most affected by reproduction
- How excerpts may circulate out of context
- What cumulative exposure means for certain communities
- How authority is inferred from tone, not just credentials
Time allows consequences to become legible. It also gives authors space to make deliberate framing choices—rather than reactive ones.
4. Writing for Yourself Is Not the Same as Writing for the Record
Writing often begins as a private act. In the aftermath of intense or consequential experiences, putting words on the page can help organise thoughts, test meaning, and regain a sense of coherence. That kind of writing has real value—but its purpose is different. Writing for yourself is about processing experience; writing for the public record is about contributing something that others can rely on, interrogate, and use. Confusing the two can lead to work being published before it is ready to carry that weight.
A book’s centre of gravity should lean toward shared understanding, not focus the author's experience.
Allowing ideas to circulate informally—through conversation, short pieces, or trusted peers—helps identify where lived experience may be doing more work than analysis. That process strengthens both the writing and the eventual book.
5. You’re writing to resolve something rather than examine it
Books are not therapy, debriefs, or exoneration devices—even when they emerge from ethically complex or personally costly work.
If the manuscript’s momentum depends on:
- Proving you were right
- Correcting the record immediately
- Forcing closure where none yet exists
…it’s likely serving a personal function that publication can’t satisfy, nor safely carry.
That doesn’t mean the book should not exist. It means publication may need to wait until its purpose shifts from resolution to shared understanding.
Waiting is not failure
Choosing not to publish yet is not retreat. It’s responsible, self-aware authorship.
Many books that have strong personal links evolve in stages:
- An initial draft that stayed private
- A period of distance or silence
- A return with sharper questions and steadier judgment
If your instinct - or editor, friends, family or colleagues - say “this matters, but not like this, not yet”—listen.
Good work survives delay.
Continuing to write can be essential; delaying publication, responsible.
