If I were to describe my writing schedule before starting this blog, I’d pick the word “sporadic”. The writing folder on my computer, sorted by year, alternates between years with forty-plus documents and years that are completely barren. An entire bottom shelf of a bookcase is dedicated to notebooks I won’t throw out due to one (or multiple) hastily concocted story introductions inside. Various writing website accounts I’ve used show six months to a year of constant activity before I abandon them. I’ve never been a consistent writer for long– until now. 

By publicly announcing my goal of publishing a post a week, I forced myself into accountability. I’ve been known to be over-exuberant when setting goals for myself, but if I announce something to other people, dammit, I will get it done. And so far, I have. Some weeks it’s been a breeze. Others, like this week, have me hanging on by the skin of my teeth. Keeping this schedule has been one of the most hellish self-improvement journeys I’ve ever been on but, as hard as it was, I’ve learned more than I ever have about writing. 

While my year of tea may have fostered creativity and expanded my worldview, my year of writing had almost the opposite effect. Instead of bringing me to some higher plane of creative understanding, this year has pushed me to demystify the writing process. One of the biggest obstacles creatives (especially writers) encounter is themselves. This year has taught me how to side-step my preconceived notion of what writing should be and get words down on paper. Everything I’ve learned has been concrete, actionable; I share them now so that any fresh writer looking to start their own journey might be able to take heed and skip some internal battles. 

In my year of writing, I’ve learned:

There is No Such Thing as a Perfect First Draft

I go into this in more detail in the post Sketching the First Draft, but it’s important enough to reiterate: stop getting hung up on your first draft. Whether you’re as self-critical as I am or you think you’re God’s Gift to the Written Word, your first draft will never be as good as a second one. By writing second drafts, my editing eye and my work quality have improved exponentially. It can help you hone in on exactly what you’re trying to say and why, cut out the fluff, and improve your overall flow. It also can cut perfectionist tendencies to the quick. If you’re like me and can’t stand the thought of writing something bad, learning to write crummy first drafts is essential to breaking past your perfectionism. Now, I intentionally try to write rough drafts as fast as possible. It forces me to give up on quality and get down what I want to say and why I want to say it. 

If you haven’t tried second drafts before, do me a favor and try. You can thank me later. 

Don’t Rely on Inspiration

Listen, I’ve done it all. Meditation. Creativity-boosting activities. New habits. Vocally asking inspiration to please float down from the heavens and grace me. None of it reliably works. If you’re going to write on a regular schedule, you cannot rely on inspiration. It doesn’t show up to work a 9 to 5. It’s up to you to write, not inspiration. Pull up your pants and teach yourself to write without it. It won’t be as good as the pieces you write while inspired but, with practice, you can start closing that gap.

Then, if you do feel inspired, you need to ride that feral horse as long as you can before it bucks you off. Inspiration is a fickle mistress– flighty and a little stupid– but there’s a reason we always leave wanting more. Ride it when it happens, know it keeps its own schedule, and plan accordingly. 

A Perfect Writing Environment Doesn’t Exist

There was a time in my life when, if I didn’t have everything in the house just so, I didn’t write. I kept a strict list: No interruptions. Total silence. Dim lights. Scented candles. All doors, shut and locked. If anything was out of order, I “couldn’t” write. 

This is all bull. This is you stopping yourself from writing. Teach yourself to write on your phone on the bus. Write on your tablet, even if you don’t have a keyboard. Write by hand in a crowded restaurant. Then, when you sit down to write and hear the neighbors blasting their crappy music through the paper-thin walls, you can still write. Practice writing everywhere so that you can write anywhere.

If Everything You Write Sounds Awful, Wait 24 Hours

On the days when none of your sentences click and your word choice feels banal, write as much as you can muster anyway. Yes, even if you hate it all, even if you’re sure you’ll have to rewrite it later. Once you’ve done all you can, put it down and don’t think about it for at least twenty-four hours. 

When you come back to it, you’ll probably find it wasn’t as bad as you thought. Everyone has days where the self-critical part of their brain goes into overdrive, usually due to some outside stress. It’s not fair to us (or our writing) to dismiss an entire day’s work as worthless based on how you feel in the heat of the moment. It’s the same principle as sleeping on a decision. Everything is always a little clearer after a good night’s rest.

…But if You’re Ready to Throw Your Computer at the Wall, Take a Break

Okay, I know I just said to try and write anyway, but if you emit toxic sludge at the very thought of trying to write, don’t. The point of writing consistently is not to make you loathe the task. That’s the opposite of what you want to happen. On days when you feel like you want to throw your laptop out the window, step away. Go outside. Touch some grass. 

Evaluate what put you in such a bad mood– later. Is it burnout? A dislike of what you’re writing? An outside stressor? No matter what, it’s a good idea to take a day or two off and consider your game plan going forward. Writing is not meant to be a punishment. Don’t force yourself to hate something you love.

Don’t Trust Your Short-Term Memory

Our mind loves to work on difficult creative tasks while our hands are busy. For instance, I struggle with introductions, so while I’m folding laundry or taking the dog for a walk, I’ll let my mind ruminate on opening sentences or themes. It never fails that my hands are full when, suddenly, WHAM! The perfect opening sentence arrives, fully formed in my head, along with the rest of the post structure. It’s perfect, it’ll be a hit, but my hands are currently picking up dog poop, and I can’t be at the computer for another fifteen minutes. So, I wrap the dog poop up and chant the idea to myself several times, hoping it will stick. By the time I finally sit down at the computer, it’s gone. 

Write. Things. Down. 

Open your notes app on your phone. Carry a physical notepad and a pen. Drag a clay tablet with you everywhere so you can print in cuneiform for all I care, just write it down. Your short-term memory will betray you, given a chance. Don’t let it have the opportunity to begin with. 

Notice Your Habits

This is the hardest advice to act on because it requires two things: a large sample size and an objective eye. The large sample size is difficult on its own, requiring months of work and several fully-completed pieces. Putting distance between yourself and your work enough to critically examine it? Even harder. 

But, if you can train yourself to read your work as if it were a stranger’s and you have enough work to go off of, you can start picking up on your habits. As an example, I love lists, complex sentences, and, of course, interjections. I’m also smitten with– to no one’s surprise– the em-dash. It’s taken a full year to catch these and try to reign them in (like now, where I had to stop yet another list within a sentence of the last one). By catching them so often in editing, I’ve now taught myself to preemptively catch them while writing. If you can do the hard work of breaking your bad habits before they get out of hand, you save yourself a lot of time on editing later. 

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Many of these lessons were hard-won. Writing a post every week for a year has been one of the most challenging projects I’ve ever undertaken. Throughout the process, I found myself becoming a better writer. While I’m still finding my voice, and it sometimes warbles like a teenager going through puberty, it’s more steady than it’s ever been. Not to mention, my writing speed has skyrocketed. As much as it sucks to hear it, big names like Stephen King and Anne Lamott are right: to become a better writer, you need to write. A lot. It’s the best way to learn.

I hope you’ll continue to join me on my future writing journeys and see what new lessons they bring. Be on the lookout for the last book reflection of the year this Sunday (yes, on Christmas) and, the week after, a preview of what’s in store for Tea Reads for 2023.