Let’s Be Real About Writing Schedules

When you don’t have all day, and when you do

I got a lot of responses last week after revealing that I can’t get as much done during the semesters as when I have the days relatively open. It seems that people feel hounded by notions of how much they should accomplish everyday under all circumstances. There are people who can prevail against all odds and obligations, but most people find it difficult to keep to their word counts or page goals when there are children to care for and jobs to do. So then what? Give up? Wait until you retire? Wish you’d made different choices? Feel disappointed in yourself?

My top principle for writing is to be on your own side. To forego taking the side of the voices in your head chiding you for not doing it right, not doing enough, not landing in the right place, whatever form that takes. I spent many years chasing all kinds of negative voices out of my head. They never offered me any benefit, so if you are still wrestling with them, just drop them now! Get on your own side, walk beside yourself, be your BFF where writing is concerned. As has often been said, no one is asking you to do this, so you need to supply the love, so love your writing practice hard.

Principle number two is, know thyself. A way to begin is to observe your writing rhythms and habits closely over a month. Keep a writing log that records what time you begin writing, how you feel going into the session, what you plan to do, and then on the other side, what you did, how you feel at the finish, and the time. Next get in deeper and note your behaviors; when do you suddenly need a glass of water and what were you thinking right before you did, how long can you write before you run out of the first flow, how long does it take to get back into it, when do you pick up a book or check your email, what happens if you have nothing to do all day but write—do you do more, does it feel better? Finally, make a note of the stories you are telling yourself about your work. Are you saying you are a genius, or stupid, or tired, or blocked? Make note of repetitive thoughts and write back to them, have a dialogue in your notebook, and play out the conversation until it stops and you can return to your work with focus.

All of this information is to my mind way more important than any craft technique. It is how you get it done. When you have firm knowledge of what you do, what works and what doesn’t, you can make adjustments. For example, many students I have had over the years have come to me reporting feelings of not being able to write, but as we discuss it further it often turns out they don’t have the time to get to the deep place they consider real writing. I offer the possibility of using smaller units of time for a specific task, like revising a paragraph or taking notes. If it takes you forty-five minutes to get deep, but you only have forty minutes, you’re going to feel a bit empty unless you have made wise use of the forty minutes.

Principle number three has to do with time. Have a sense of expansiveness, that life is long and conditions changeable, and if right now you have small children at your knees/a big demanding job, know the time will come when you will have the mental space for your ambition to fluorish. But it may have to wait. My theory is it is possible to do three things well but not four. Kids/pets, job, writing and home/relationship are four. Something has got to give, and in that scenario the easiest to let go of is writing. If that is what is happening to you, go all in on the three and plan for the writing ahead, and keep your hand in but doing what writing you can during this period. Practice writing landscape or dialogue or effectively getting a character onto the page. Be purposeful but not judgmental. Do what you can, or decide to wait. It’s 100% fine if you do. You can practice paying attention and enhance your observational skills while doing the most mundane things, or you can daydream a story. Make choices and the limitations will feel less fraught.

The other side of this is that if you do have time to write something that requires focus, write your most important and ambitious idea now. Don’t save it for when your skills are greater or when you are older. Jump in and make a pass at it. Grab an image and get started. We don’t know how much time we have, so write as if today is the only day.

Those two ideas sound contradictory, but they are both about the reality of time as a factor in what happens at the page. Waiting and jumping in are two sides of the same writing life.

A while back I described how I write until I start to think and then I stop cold, as thinking brings me doubts. I think before and after but during is a flow of images, dialogue, observation, fast writing, making stuff up. I can repeat that pattern all day with breaks in between, but even if the first session ends up being only forty-five minutes those are good minutes. So I’m suggesting that quantity isn’t necessarily necessary for making major advances.

Lastly, and I didn’t used to think this but I deeply believe it now, inspiration is something worth waiting for. But you have to earn it by putting in the hours on the early end of a writing practice. Do your 10,000 hours and after that waiting can be the very best way to go; waiting for a truly good idea to come along. Writing every day has its merits and its uses, and is very helpful early on, and later while inside a project. But there is a very real place for inspiration too, and it isn’t a cop out to wait for it. Readiness is all though, during that waiting. Can you make of an inspiration what it asks for?

The final principle I’ll mention is faith. Ask questions of your writing and have faith that the answers will come. So much of art is active passivity. Parts of your mind are at work while you are in the dark. But it will all come together, I promise.