Should I write every day?

You may not be able to write every day, but you should try to

When I first started writing back in 2002, I’d proudly scrawl my daily word count on a nature calendar I hung over my writing desk. Inside the little rectangular boxes, I had penned in 3,851 and 9,234 and 5,199 and 8,654. And you might be thinking, Wow, he sure was prolific. Except there was one problem: I might write 8,000+ words one day, and then I’d not write anything for days, or even weeks.

If you read my earlier post, Word Count, Shmerd Count, I explained why word counts don’t matter. You’re not in a race, trying to beat some arbitrary high score from your fellow writers. Sure, some writers are more prolific than others, but numbers aren’t a good metric to decide if you’ve been productive.

Back in those early days, I’d wait for inspiration. I’d wait until I had an idea fully formed in my head or some soul-shaking impetus fueled by caffeine and ahem other substances. But here’s the thing: inspiration is overrated. Sure, it’s great when it comes: that idea that comes to you like a divine gift or lightning strike, that so seizes you with energy that it’s all you can think about. But such moments are rare. Waiting for them is like sitting around waiting for life to come to you, rather than going outside and bringing yourself to life.

We’re all busy. We have spouses or jobs or kids or illnesses to manage or chores to do or that TV show that everyone at work is talking about to finish watching before sleep. But if you want to be a writer, you don’t need a special desk, or favorite coffee mug, comfy slippers, brown-label Nag Champa (yes, I used to burn incense when I write), or an inspiration-scented candle. The only thing you need to do is write. You have to make writing a part of your life the way brushing your teeth is (I hope brushing your teeth is a part of your life).

You have to make writing routine.

Find a schedule that works for you. Maybe it’s late at night, after everyone has gone to sleep. Maybe it’s on your lunch break (I know someone who wrote a novel on his one-hour lunch breaks, god bless him). Maybe it’s in the morning, before work. I’m an independent contractor — my own boss — so I write weekday mornings before work. I try to get at least two hours of solid writing in. But if the words are flowing, sometimes I go as long as four hours. (I find, however, that after about four hours I need to take a break.)

Mute your phone and shove it under a couch pillow, so you won’t check it, and notifications won’t distract you. Stay off social media. If you don’t need the internet (and trust me, you don’t need the internet; that research can wait) consider turning off your wifi. Shut out the world. This is your time. Ten words or ten thousand, it doesn’t matter. This is your moment for deep work, the kind of focused, sustained concentration that’s necessary for any creative art. I promise you, the outside world will still be there when you return.

So now you’re writing. Great! Eventually, you’re going to reach a tall hill at some point in your work and need a pause. You’re going to want to check social media. You’re going to want to get a snack from the fridge. And, hey, have you noticed how dirty the kitchen counter is? And that toaster sure needs its crumbs emptied, and, and, and…

Next thing you know, you’ve got all the cleaning solutions out and you’re scrubbing the tub. Congratulations, you’re procrastinating! Resist the urge to step away from the keyboard. Sure, go to the bathroom. Stretch (for god’s sake, take care of your back!). But do not heed the siren call that wants you to do anything but write. You won’t smash your ship on the rocks, but you won’t get any writing done that day, or ever.

And I promise you this: if you make a schedule out of writing, if you write everyday (or most days) your brain will remember. It’s the same kind of memory that happens when you go to type “happens” and your fingers type “matter” (Just matter happened to me now). It’s the same kind of memory that allows basketball players to sink a basket without thinking about it, and it’s the same kind of memory that lets guitarists jam a solo without glancing at the fretboard. Our brains are plastic. Not actual plastic (though that might make a cool story). We’re malleable. We can learn. If you teach your brain that at a certain time of day, when you’re sitting before your keyboard, this is when you create, your brain will say, Oh, I’d better switch on the creative juices!

I’ve experienced this many times. After those slogging early days, I eventually disciplined myself into a better writing schedule where I was writing (almost) every morning. Some mornings, instead of writing, I had to go visit a client in Manhattan. Sitting on the crowded subway, speeding under New York’s labyrinthine streets, my brain would unexpectedly bloom with a thousand story ideas. These ideas came from seemingly nowhere, because I wasn’t consciously thinking of my story. So what was happening? The reality soon became clear: Normally at this time I’d be writing. And my brain, used to the regular schedule, was like, Okay, pal, let’s do this. Let’s create! I had trained my brain to do creative work at a certain hour, and my brain, that dutiful servant showed up, eager and ready.

And now here’s the best part: that burst of creative ideas is no different from so-called “inspiration.” The feeling (to me, at least) is identical. But now, instead of waiting for inspiration to strike, you show up each day, playing inside your imagination, and you bring inspiration to you. It’s a proactive thing. It’s like physical exercise. It’s work, though it’s not that hard (though it may seem so at first). It’s just a matter of putting in the sustained effort.

Like lifting weights, it may feel a slog at first. You may only churn out 100 mediocre words. Your story won’t be working. You feel you lack “inspiration.” You stare at an empty page. But something will happen, eventually, if you keep this up, day after day, if you engage in imaginative play and dedicate the kind of deep focus needed for sustained creative work: it will get easier. At some point, you’ll be inundated with so many ideas, you won’t know where to put them. (Write them down, somewhere. Maybe they’re not right for the current story, but they might work for something else.)

Create a schedule and stick to it. It may be difficult at first to avoid distractions and your desire to do something else. And it may take a while to see results, but eventually the magic will happen: inspiration won’t find you, you’ll find it.

Oh, and one last thing. In regard to needing the perfect writing space in order to write, I wrote King of Shards and Queen of Static and a few dozen short stories on this ergonomically challenged snack tray (kids, do not try this at home). Location doesn’t matter. But schedules do. Show up, and your inspiration will show up too.

---

Thanks so much for reading The Outer Deep! If you’d like to support me and my work, please check out my novels King of Shards and Queen of Static. And you can see a list of all my short fiction, on my website.