Just Write Every Day of Your Life
How to develop a daily writing habit, and why you should.
It always starts here. I honestly don’t know how to start anywhere else.
If you want to be a writer, particularly a novelist, the most powerful habit you can develop is the habit of writing every day. Every. Single. Day.
It doesn’t have to take over your life. I’m not talking about spending all day, every day chained to your desk. The habit I’m talking about is much simpler than that. Much more manageable.
Starting today–make it your habit to write for ten minutes a day.
Millions of people have ‘write a book’ on their bucket list.
They want to do it once and mark it off. If that sounds like you — awesome. I think it’s a good goal. But, I’m not a bucket-list writer. I’m a working writer. This is my life. It’s my career. It’s the one thing I’ve been passionate about since childhood. The only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do.
I work at it every day. I mean that. Every single day. When I finish a book, I don’t mark something off my bucket list. I move on to the next one.
The difference between a working writer and a bucket-list writer is practice. That’s practice the noun and the verb. I have a daily writing practice (noun.) And because I practice (verb) so much, I’ve been able to build a life that includes writing at its core.
When I was ten-years-old, an author named Tomie dePaola came to my elementary School for an author visit.
I remember sitting somewhere in the middle of the auditorium, feeling the world shift.
This man, who looked like anyone’s grandpa. This regular old man. He was a writer. It was the first time I made a connection between books and the people who wrote them.
He talked about how he wrote every day on a yellow legal pad with a Sharpie marker. So did I, for a long, long time. Well into adulthood. In fact, I still carry a notebook with me. Everywhere.
I knew, sitting in that auditorium, that this was what I wanted to be when I grew up.
He also said something about the book The Trumpet of the Swan. I don’t remember quite what. I wish I did. But for a long time, I thought Tomie DePaola wrote it. Then I knew he didn’t, of course.
Memories from when you are ten are sketchy sometimes.
It wasn’t until I was a mother and I came across a Strega Nona book that I really remembered. It was Tomie dePaola that first made me realize that real people write books.
And it was Tomie dePaola that sparked the idea of a writing habit in me.
I’m pretty sure I’ve written every single day since then.
I have consciously written every single day since December 2004. That’s a twenty year streak. I’ve talked about that a lot and it always surprises me that the idea of doing something daily for two decades doesn’t cause much of a reaction.
I think that’s because the actual goal is so tiny. The whole goal is to write new words in my current work in progress for ten minutes a day. Most days I write more. Some days, I barely make it through the ten minutes. But regardless, I show up the next day and I write for ten minutes.
But I’ve written forward in my current WIP for at least ten minutes a day, every day for twenty years. The anniversary is easy to remember, because my youngest daughter was born on December 8, 2004. She’s a college sophomore now.
There was a year when I was convinced my writing career was over.
My publisher didn’t pick up the third book in my trilogy. My agent hated every new idea I had. And then I didn’t have an agent anymore. That was 2014. The year before the start of my MFA program. And for a while I thought of that as the year I didn’t write.
But I did. I did write. In fact, I wrote a novel. An entire novel, ten minutes at a time. Was it good? I don’t know. I like it, but it hasn’t sold. It’s in my little collection of work to indie publish some day. But, I wrote it. And writing it made me a better writer.
Here’s how I know: During my first year in graduate school, I wrote another novel and that one sold to a major publisher.
Daily writing might sound daunting.
Maybe it seems like such a huge commitment that it’s keeping you from writing at all. I get that. But even so, a daily writing habit is a good idea.
Really, it’s a career-making idea. And it doesn’t have to be overwhelming. Stick with me here. You don’t even have to take my word for it.
Ray Bradbury said:
Just write every day of your life. Read intensely. Then see what happens.
Stephen King said:
The truth is that when I’m writing, I write every day, workaholic dweeb or not. That includes Christmas, the Fourth, and my birthday (at my age you try to ignore your goddam birthday anyway.)
Ernest Hemingway said:
I write every morning.
Khaled Hosseini said:
You have to write whether you feel like it or not.
Think about this: the only thing that every successful writer has in common is a completed manuscript. That’s it. Literally the only constant.
This act of showing up every single day to spend a few minutes working on your manuscript is called relentless incrementalism. It’s not a particularly sexy concept. See above where I mentioned that my twenty year streak never causes much of a stir when I talk about it.
But, my god, it’s powerful. Careers are built on it.
Remember. The key is practice. And it’s a practice. Verb and noun. Show up. Write like it’s your job and you have a ten minute shift. Put in overtime if you hit flow and have the time. Or if you’re on a deadline. Or if you just feel like it.
But when you finish that little daily writing shift? Well, then you worked as a freaking novelist today. And how incredibly cool is that?
Celebrating those acts of relentless incrementalism is important.
Let’s be honest. Writing is such a long, slow process. And a lot of the upfront, beginning parts are done in relative isolation. You don’t have an agent or an editor telling you that you’re amazing and that they can’t wait for your next book. You have to put in years of work, holding on to the internal belief that you have what it takes.
That is not for the weak of heart. Seriously.
When I tell you that it’s important to give yourself credit for the work you’re doing, I mean it. I really believe it’s essential. Here’s why: writers who ‘fail’ (yes, in air quotes) haven’t really failed. They’ve stopped.
They’ve stopped because they think they failed. (Hence the air quotes.) And I really believe that there is no such thing as a failed writer. Because writing isn’t a one and done thing. You might have a failed book. I for sure have. But as long as you keep writing, and with each project work to become a better writer, how can you be a failure?
Uh huh. You can’t. So there. So, maybe celebrating showing up to write for ten minutes is something like a participation trophy. Who cares, though? Seriously. Who cares if the result of rewarding your participation is that you want to keep writing?
Reward the participation, I say. And I say it because it’s helped me to build my own writing career. And, I’ve seen it work for so many other writers. So many.
Here are a few participation trophy ideas.
The OG for Ninja Writers is FRED–the Folder for Reaching the End of your Draft. It’s the world’s simplest accountability and self-reward tool. Just a calendar. Any calendar. And a pack of star stickers (or even a marker.) Write for ten minutes. Give yourself a star. The real reward is the visual representation of your streak.
A log. I can’t overemphasize what a difference it can make to see the accumulation of your work. Just a few words about what you worked on, how many words you wrote,
A note for tomorrow. The last thing, after you’ve finished writing and logged your work, jot down a few words about what you’ll write next. The story is very fresh in your mind now and doing this will save you from having to spend any of your writing time thinking about it.
A reward. It doesn’t have to be a lot. A favorite meal. A couple of hours doing–literally anything you want. A new book. Just anything. It’s amazing how our brains react to even tiny rewards. Like those stars, right?
A little reflection. Honestly, just spending a few minutes every month acknowledging the work you’ve done and looking to the upcoming month, can be a really powerful tool. Just putting what you want to do out into the universe and paying attention to the results can be a major motivator.
Let it accumulate. I like to keep analog records, because I like to be able to see how they stack up. Seeing those monthly FREDs and writing logs build on each other is a reward all on its own. I promise. Print them out–however you fill them out–and put them in a binder. Look them over when you need a reminder that what you’re doing matters.
I’ve created a printable Book-a-Year Project Participation Trophy Log for you. Find it here.
It never changes.
I’m a full-time writer. Obviously, most days I write for more than ten minutes. I don’t set a timer and then stop mid-sentence the way my kids used to when they had to read twenty minutes a day for school.
Ten minutes is a minimum. It’s my ‘at least.’ The one thing it does perfectly is this: It gets me over the hump between not writing and writing.
Some days, I get to ten minutes and I stop. That’s all I can do, and I barely can do that. Some days it’s hard. And sometimes the hard days stretch into weeks or, rarely, even months. Once, like I mentioned earlier, a whole year.
The only thing that makes me write for ten minutes those days is not wanting to break my streak. I might have to pick those words out of my brain with a toothpick, but I do it. And even if the words are no good and I know for sure that they’ll be deleted at some point, it still counts.
I get full credit. Gold star on my calendar.
It took me a long time to realize that the real secret sauce isn’t necessarily that the ten minute goal gets me started. It’s that it’s finite. It ends. For today, I’ve done my work. I’ve met my obligation.
And after that, since I’ve accomplished my goal, it’s all fun.
Let’s go back to my kids for a minute. All three spent elementary school with a daily homework assignment to read for twenty minutes. All three used a kitchen timer and when it went off, sometimes they closed their assigned book and were happy to be done.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes, ]the timer went off, but they just snuggled in and kept reading.
My oldest daughter loves to read. So often, once she was done with that assigned reading, she’d pick up another book. Whichever one her little heart desired. And then she’d read for hours.
No timers. No goals. No accountability or motivation required. She read because she wanted to.
Writing is like that, too.
I write for at least ten minutes a day on one project until it’s done. But after my ten minutes, if I still want to write, I can work on whatever project I want to. And because it’s not my official WIP, there’s less pressure on it.
Often I write for ten minutes on my current project, and then for hours on something else. Occasionally, I get started and I can’t stop. Especially when I’m in the thick of starting a new story or I’m rounding the final bend on one that’s almost done.
On those days, I sometimes have to pry myself away from writing to do normal human things like eat or sleep.
My kids read for twenty minutes a day on their assigned books. Almost never any more than that. And you know what? They finished reading them. Just like how if you write for ten minutes a day on your novel, you’ll get to the end.
What other choice do you have? Eventually my kids ran out of pages. And eventually, you’ll finish your story.
And maybe, with the pressure off after your ten minutes, you’ll finish other projects in between.
Every once in a while, someone tells me that I should write more.
A long time ago I hired a business coach and he was appalled. He made it his mission to make sure I had more time to write than ten minutes a day.
He never did really get it.
I can shift my daily writing goal to something bigger. Half an hour, maybe. Or 500 words. A thousand words. Two thousand, like Stephen King. The problem is that if I don’t think I can meet that goal on a given day, I won’t write for ten minutes. I won’t write anything at all.
If I’m sick. Or busy. Or caught up in some family drama. Or whatever. Anything. I won’t cut back to writing ten minutes. I’ll just skip it. I’ve known myself for almost 53 years. For two of those five decades, I’ve had this daily streak going. Obviously I could write for ten minutes whenever I want to.
But I won’t. And skipping it is a slippery slope.
Next thing I know, I haven’t written for a week. Or a month. And then getting back to it requires figuring out how to get back into the story I haven’t looked at for a while.
That way lies writer’s block and unfinished manuscripts.
You have plenty of daily habits. You don’t only brush your teeth when you have time, or tell yourself you’ll make your kids lunch as long as you’re not too busy with something else. You don’t commit to walking your dog only when your muse is on board.
My writing practice is a habit. And that habit has served me very well. I swear, it will do the same for you. You’ll see.
I know a lot of writers. I know even more people who want to be writers.
A writing habit is the difference between the two.
And, happily, there isn’t any need to get fancy about it. You don’t need a special writing space (although that’s a nice thing to have.) You don’t need to write at the same time every day (although, if that helps, go for it most of the time.)
All you have to do is make the decision to write for ten minutes out of every 24 hours. Really, the fewer artificial boundaries the better.
This might be an unpopular opinion, but it’s the habit that matters here, not the quality.
I know. I know. No one wants to produce crap. But it happens. And I can’t tell you how many writers I’ve seen who get so caught up in being a good writer that they end up not writing at all.
Anne Lamott has a great essay about shitty first drafts. You should read it if you haven’t ever. And if you have? You should go read it again.
Octavia Bulter said:
You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it. That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.
Jodi Picoult said:
You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.
Writing something is more important than insisting on perfection. If you wait for perfect writing or the perfect circumstances to write, you’re going to be waiting a long time.
Most of the time, your writing will be better than you think it is. Sometimes, it will really shine. But, yeah. Sometimes you’re going to spend ten minutes writing absolute crap. And that’s okay. Give yourself your gold star and put it away until tomorrow.
Now that we’ve said all that, know this. You can have bigger goals, too.
It’s perfectly fine to have more than one writing habit.
Maybe you write until noon on your days off. Or one weekend a month you rent a hotel room and hole up to binge on writing. (I want this habit.) I write all day on the last Sunday of every month. In fact, I invite you to do that with me. We’re live on Zoom for twelve hours.
I am for sure not suggesting that you stop what you’re doing and instead write for ten minutes a day with a kitchen timer, cutting yourself off when it dings. What I’m suggesting is that you have a small underlying goal.
If every Wednesday you write from four am until the sun comes up — good! Week in and week out, you meet your tiny goal and go way beyond it.
But if one Wednesday you have the flu and you know that all you can manage is sleep between four am and sunrise, you’ve still met your goal as long as you manage to scribble something on your WIP for ten minutes at some point during the day.
Your ten minute writing goal is your safety net. Most of the time, you don’t need it. But when you do, you’ll be very glad it’s there.
Before we’re done here, I want to talk about where most people struggle.
Whenever someone tells me that a tiny writing habit failed them, I know I’m talking to someone who has not internalized it yet. And until they do, it won’t work. They’ll always be able to easily skip it.
This doesn’t work if you don’t really believe that your daily writing goal is ten minutes a day.
This won’t work if you’ve got ‘stretch goals’ or you say to yourself fine, Shaunta says ten minutes a day so I’ll do it, but to meet my goals I have to write more.
Because if that’s what’s going on in your head, then your goal isn’t ten minutes a day. It’s something else.
I hear other things pretty often, too. Things that knock relentless incrementalism off its tracks.
It takes me ten minutes just to get started. Seriously. Last thing you do when you write today, note down what you’re going to write tomorrow. It’ll negate this.
That’s not how my brain/creativity/imagination works. I have to give myself big chunks of time to write. Brace yourself. This is a BS argument. Obviously, everyone wants the luxury of all the time in the world. On the days that you have that, go for it. But, that doesn’t mean that you goal shouldn’t be ten minutes. Overshoot it every day, if you want to. And you can. But train yourself to write in sips instead of gulps on the days when a gulp isn’t feasible.
I don’t want to. Ah. Now this is a reason I can respect, at least. If you really don’t want to write every day, or you just hate the idea of relentless incrementalism, then don’t do it. I’m not here to make you do it. But I highly recommend finding a minimum, safety net goal that does work for you. It will stop you from looking up one day and realizing that you aren’t actually writing anymore.
I’m already doing something else that works. And this one? This is the one reason that trumps anything else I might have to say. I would never, ever, suggest that you stop doing something that’s working just because something that I’m doing works for me. Make sure it’s actually working. That means that it’s something you’re actually doing regularly and that you’re making the progress you want to on your manuscripts. (i.e. You’re finishing them at the very least.) Your system trumps mine, every single time, if it’s working for you.
Resources for Building a Daily Writing Habit
Twila Tharp’s The Creative Habit is a must read for every creative. It’s specifically designed to help you develop your habit.
Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird is a classic with lots of exercises that will help drive your daily habit.
The Storymatic Classic is my favorite tool for unsticking myself. It never fails me.