Literally Anyone Can Develop a Successful Writing Regimen
Just focus on why you're doing it and recognize creativity-murderers and productivity-thieves when they try to ruin you.
Since I’ve been lucky enough to write two books and am currently shopping around a third, the issue of when to carve out time to write—and how to make sure I stick to that schedule—has been on my mind. It’s also something I’m frequently asked about, especially by people who tell me they would “love to write, if only I had the time …”
I have to admit (and this might annoy you), procrastination is not usually my big issue (though I certainly have my moments). In general, however, I have what I consider a very healthy, consistent relationship with my writing process, and I managed to write two books while also holding down full-time jobs and doing plenty of side-gigs. That hasn’t always come easy though.
Believe me when I tell you that being on this end of writing two books feels as mind-boggling to me as it does to non-writers. But one thing leads to another—I calendar in my writing, I prioritize it each day, yada yada yada—and lo and behold, eventually I have a book. Make that two books. Plus a forthcoming anthology for which I was the editor. And chapters in several other anthologies. If you think it’s bananas to be able to write all that, well, so do I.
And yet I did it. And that’s not because I’m Superwoman (frequently I feel more like Subwoman) or because I have some focus gene or writing gene that others don’t have; it’s because I take my desire (and sometimes contractual obligation) to write extremely seriously, and I prioritize it first. No matter what.
It’s so funny how staggeringly simple it is to do this, yet how easy it can also be to let the “noise” get in our way. Sound familiar? Then say it with me: Dear Noise, F*ck off. Love, Me.
When I wrote my memoir, Mariann had been the first person to suggest I wake up every day and write from 6am-8am, no matter what. So I did. I slept with my laptop plugged in beside my bed, and every morning, I’d pop up like unbuttered toast and just start. By 6:10am, she had placed a much-needed cup of coffee beside me.
And I followed that same exact routine when I wrote my second book. Every day, no matter what.
Oh, and in case you’re curious, I’m not a morning person. Not in the least. But my writing schedule and my commitment to myself overrides the story about how I don’t function well before Noon. Sometimes, the stories we tell ourselves are just tall tales that over time sounded true, so we kept saying them.
Here’s when I do function well: When I work without distraction, which is easiest to do early in the morning before I am dealing with turning off notifications or other outside demands.
I also function best when I put myself in the head of future-me and let those possible outcomes dictate how I act when I’m present-me.
I don’t always succeed at this, but when I do, I generally can push through procrastination because, in my bones, I know that I am working on something that will result in the thing I want more than anything else: to create excellent books.
Last I checked, you can’t have the experience of “having written” books without writing the damn things. Funny how that works.
But what about if you start to create a ton of excuses? Some of them might include: you just want to check your email first, have breakfast, respond to that text that came in last night, watch the morning news for a little bit while sipping on your coffee, clip your toenails, play with the cat, de-peanut-butter-ify the dog’s face (this is a real thing in my house).
In the moment—especially when you’re tired and the blank screen staring back at you feels daunting—it can be extremely enticing to do anything but start. The trick is to train yourself to push away those career-ruiners.
And that’s what they are: career ruiners. Creativity murderers. Productivity poisoners. Your seemingly simple, innocent urge to pet your cute little kitty is actually a giant force that is trying to destroy you.
Yes, I’m being dramatic. (Yes, I’m good at that. I have a lot of practice. I was even voted “Most Theatrical” in high school.) But if we start to think about those little urges with those kinds of high stakes—and we begin to put ourselves in the shoes of future-us, imagining how we will feel when we finish our two-hour writing session (and, conversely, imagine how we would feel if we didn’t because we instead prioritized responding to a dumb email)—we can do anything we set out to do.
If you consistently don’t get it done, I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t seem to matter to you enough. Consider that an indicator, and switch gears.
If you want to be a writer, you have to write. If you don’t do it, over and over, it’s because you don’t want it enough.
Tough love, but love nonetheless. The people who generally succeed are the ones who are relentless about their craft. We feel frustrated like everyone else. We are daunted by a blank page staring back at us, same as everyone else. We don’t know how we’re going to do it when we are tired, and achey, and our dog needs to be de-peanut-butter-ified … just like everyone else.
But then we do it anyway. We step into our frustration, take a deep breath, throw our iPhone into the hallway so it’s out of reach, and we forge ahead.
This is not because we are extraordinary; this is because we want it enough to get super uncomfortable, even though we have no f*cking idea how we’re going to sit through two goddamn hours of writing. We do it anyway.
We prioritize writing over most emergencies. We prioritize writing over writer’s block (I don’t actually believe in writer’s block, which I’m sure I’ll get hate mail for saying).
We push aside imposter syndrome, understanding it was created by the patriarchy and set up exactly for us to fail at this moment, and we don’t fail. Sometimes we spend those two hours writing two sentences; sometimes an entire chapter flows out of us like it was there all along and just needed a release valve.
We make the choice to unleash our creative flow, and when we can’t connect with it, we keeping typing as if we had. We recognize that our skills and talents at writing are about something bigger than just us, and then we laugh at how egocentric we sound.
We write. We keep a digital notepad on the side of our desktop and we paste everything that we cut there, in case we need it later. We set goals for ourselves (write two hours a day, finish that chapter by next Thursday, get that first draft into so-and-so’s hands by June 14) and we stick to them by calendaring out our plans, and working everyone and everything else in around those plans. They don’t matter as much as our precious writing time.
It is our practice. It is sometimes our religion. And it is sometimes just two lousy hours that feel like hell, but we get through them anyway because that is what it means to be a writer. It means you write.
If you have issues with procrastinating, I encourage you to A) soul-search, and B) focus on why you’re writing in the first place. Get an accountability buddy if that calls to you, set up dates when your drafts are due to one another, and create consequences if you don’t make your goal (such as buying them a $150 bottle of wine … make those consequences expensive and out-of-the-ordinary).
Take your practice as seriously as you want others to take your writing. Find mentors that are doing what you want to be doing, follow them on social media, and feel free to DM them to ask what top tip they might have for an aspiring writer. Take their feedback seriously. Print it out and tape it near your computer. Do daily affirmations either in the form of mindfulness (breathe in and out to the words, “I am a writer” or, “I am creative”) or follow something more prescribed, such as The Artist’s Way.
Just as I made a plea earlier this week to stop wasting time with meetings that aren’t necessary, stop wasting your own time, too. If this pandemic taught us anything, it’s that life is short (and that we shouldn’t eat animals, which was the root of the pandemic in the first place—even though the media entirely ignores that fact). It’s precious, too.
You deserve to overcome your procrastination. You deserve to tell your story. Others deserve to read it.
xo,
jazz
One Thing I’m Jazzed About
I really loved the interview I gave last week on the Our Hen House podcast with activist Christopher Soul Eubanks.
I hope you take a listen. He’s an incredible animal activist, thinker, and thought leader.