is freaking out about their work. From the veteran bestsellers down to the writers who are preparing their manuscript for agent queries, everyone approaches their workspace wondering how the hell they managed to get something good onto the page the day before, because today it feels impossible. Until they start to write.
Whether you are a writer who wants to become an author, or an author who wants to remember how to be a writer once again, I hope that you find comfort here for whatever creative project you are tackling. And if you have picked up this book because you know and love a writer and you’re curious about their process, you are a modern hero. Please leave a five-star review on every platform known to readers and say nice things about our books.
With gratitude,
Courtney
I did not say that writing ought to make everything clearer, but instead makes everything worse; what I said was that writing makes everything clearer and worse.
—FRANZ KAFKA
It is a common misperception that writers write. What a quaint idea! Writers don’t write, they fight for time to write. And when they get this time, they dismantle the procrastination traps scattered ’round their desks, and then they write, a little . . . or rather, they revise, and then the doorbell rings, and at the door is someone with a fire that only the writer can put out, and by the time the writer has got the fire somewhat under control, the forty-five minutes they had allotted to their writing is up, and they have to go out in the world to teach, edit, read, child-mind, blurb, review, and write for other people so that they can afford to find another forty-five minutes in their week to write for themselves.
If you want to see your work published, all of the craft stuff is important: developing a unique voice, learning how to tell a story, learning through trial and error which stories you are best positioned to tell. But if you lack the skills to create, protect, and wisely use your writing time, you won’t have time to write.
Making time to write (and then actually writing)
In 2012, I edited a series for Tin House called the Super Sad True Habits of Highly Effective Writers. (I borrowed the title from Gary Shteyngart’s third novel, but he was a contributor, so, fairsies?) The series ended up revealing that a lot of writers have compulsions they indulge in before they can actually write. I drink tea out of the same mug every morning; Matt Bell uses a secret drafting font that is only for his eyes; Jim Shepard has to have an even number of unanswered emails in his inbox before he can write well. But creating the optimal conditions for writing doesn’t mean a writer is going to write. You can light a candle, do some push-ups, and say a couple writing prayers, and still find yourself on Clickhole for two hours. Most writers write on computers, and the only thing between their unfinished manuscript and the World Wide Web is willpower.
Even if the Internet isn’t your procrastination go-to, there are always a hundred other things to do than write. So how do you stay focused when your dirty dishes have taken up long-term residence in your kitchen sink? How do you force yourself to write?
Seek pressure from your peers
Most humans have an innate desire to please people, which is why I shaved off all my arm hair as a ten-year-old when my best friend told me to.
Peer pressure doesn’t always have positive outcomes, but it can help if you need accountability. The author and critic Michele Filgate used to host a Friday writing group called Get Your Ass on the Bench and Write that helped her generate new work because other people were expecting it, and author Tony Tulathimutte credits much of his professional success to the writing group he has been a part of for fifteen years. Writers such as Lisa Ko find parallel work motivational (“It’s hard to go do something else to procrastinate or avoid your work when your friends are busy writing in front of you”), which is why coworking spaces are an attractive option for those who put laundry first and writing seventh when they “work” from home.
There are coworking spaces that exist exclusively for writers that give you access to caffeine, a desk, and a printer for a certain price each month. The downsides are that the printer might not work and you must get into the creative zone alongside a stranger who wants to be published in the exact same places you do; the upside is that you don’t have to bring your computer with you every time you go to the restroom.
Monetize your writing
When author Mira Jacob was unexpectedly laid off from a corporate job she’d held in different capacities for over a decade, her husband convinced her to pretend that her two months of severance pay was an advance for her first novel. Almost immediately, though, Mira started receiving sympathy job offers from professionals who knew she had been the only parent working at a parenting website. “I don’t think I would have had the courage to turn those opportunities down if I hadn’t had an awesome agent who begged me not to take another job,” Mira explains. “She told me, ‘Don’t go back and work for any assholes; this book is going to sell. It will sell for real money. It’s going to change your life.’ I’d been writing that book for almost ten years,” Mira says, “and I finished it in a month.”
Mira wasn’t setting out to get fired, and she certainly doesn’t recommend tacking LAYOFFS! onto your vision board, but it’s true that Mira made advances in her writing when she decided to monetize her work. Regardless of what it is—a novel, a collection of short stories, a book of poetry, or essays—most writers will not be getting paid for their first book before it actually becomes one, so you are going to have to trick yourself into believing in its value while you’re writing it.
Maybe you divert part of your salary to pay yourself a writing wage—an unnecessary visit to Instagram will feel more lamentable if you’re on the clock. If you have the budget, some writers find it useful to rent a separate office or a desk in the kind of communal workspaces we’ve mentioned. Heck, maybe you need to rent a computer by the hour at an old-school Internet café—whatever it takes to shame your inner procrastinator into actually writing.
DIY your own writing retreat
Customized residencies are a godsend because you don’t have to apply for them; you don’t even need to leave your couch to participate in one. If you need a weekend to turbospeed ahead in a writing project, put up an out-of-office reminder, change your social media avatars to a note saying “Gone writing,” and lock yourself inside your dwelling. (Or have someone lock you up in theirs: when the aforementioned Michele Filgate was trying to finish a difficult personal essay, a friend agreed to keep Michele locked inside their apartment until she finished it, and Lisa Ko has done some of her best writing while pet-sitting for friends.)
Airbnb has homeowners attuned to people’s space needs, and savvy hosts have realized how far writers will travel for solid peace and quiet. Formerly private residences like The Porches in Virginia, Patchwork Farm in Massachusetts, or Spruceton Inn in the Catskills have transitioned into retreat centers with customized residencies for writers, and nothing stops you from contacting a hotel to see if they’ll offer you a discounted rate if you bring your writing group. For writers looking to pack a little vacation into their retreat, Shaw Guides has a titillating list of conferences in destinations like Peru, Greece, and Mexico, as well as a variety of lesser-known retreats and conferences throughout the United States.
Because writers aren’t the only species craving stillness, DIY retreaters should take note of the meditation resources in their communities. Poet Aaron Belz enjoyed many a writing weekend at the Vision of Peace Hermitages in Missouri, where twenty-five dollars a night would