“Exercise the writing muscle every day, even if it is only a letter, notes, a title list, a character sketch, a journal entry. Writers are like dancers, like athletes. Without that exercise, the muscles seize up.”
—JANE YOLEN
I’ve talked over and over about doing the work, because it is crucial to being a successful writer.
But our work is different from other people’s work. We work from home or take our laptop to small cafés while we drink gallons of coffee and try to create imaginary worlds strangers want to live in. We need to consistently discipline ourselves to begin writing each and every time we sit down. It’s exhausting to have to make a clear intention to write every single day.
I never feel like I’ve figured out the secrets to this career. Each time I start a book, I grope in the dark, ignoring the voices that say I can’t do it anymore, fighting through the gleeful devilish minions that jump in my head and say, “Let’s skip writing today! Let’s just watch television and nap and tell people we wrote!”
It’s hard to start writing, every time. No wonder most of us give up and return to our day jobs. In our mind, the artist’s life is full of fun and creativity, of unknown journeys and adventure. Sometimes it is these things, but at the very core of what a writer is lies something writers don’t really talk about.
Boredom.
There’s a lot of boredom and minutia in writing. Oh, when the flow is there, it’s like a carnival ride of pleasures. But 90 percent of this job is just staring at a screen, forcing words together while praying the dam will eventually break and give us a river. A river of words that make sense and build a story. A story people will actually want to read.
We stare out of windows, fiddle with social media, and refill our coffee mugs too many times. I get excited when I have to use the bathroom, savoring the steps to freedom from my office.
Yet I savor those very same steps back into my safe haven, where I hope the words will come. How odd.
It is a co-dependent, vicious, love-hate relationship. A therapist would probably tell me to break up with my writing muse.
Writers are their own bosses. Sure, an editor may hold them to a deadline, but we hold the ability to meet the deadline. I remember at my day job, there were times when I felt completely confident I’d reached the top of the learning curve. I mastered every task and knew my boss so well I could anticipate how to meet her needs. I ran the department with competence and though the occasional hiccup arose, I mostly felt like I could coast. Sure, I got bored, but it was easy. It was routine. It was the only thing I knew.
I was also held accountable for each and every action. In writing, the only accountability is words on the page. There is no one to beg for sick days, cajole for vacation, or manipulate to get out early during a snowstorm. Sounds glorious, and often it is. Other times, however, I would give anything for someone to tell me to get my ass in gear. A personal trainer brutal enough to bark out: “Ten pages, Probst, or you have to deal with me!” Instead, there’s only my dog, who naps in my office and doesn’t care whether I write or not.
Writing is exciting because it’s new and scary each time. It’s a career that keeps the adrenalin running and life interesting. But in order to reach a level of professionalism, we must learn to produce regularly. This could mean four books a year or one. The key to being a career author is consistency, and the only way to achieve consistency is by treating writing like a muscle.
Think about the gym. God, I hate the gym. I have a love-hate relationship with exercise (mostly hate), but I can never argue with the benefits and how damn good I feel when I finally do it. First off, I get a high from the knowledge I did something difficult. I could float through the rest of the day just from the satisfaction of knowing how I spent that precious hour and the fact I didn’t wimp out. My body might be sore and rusty, but if I keep at it, my muscles will get limber. Stronger. More apt to take the abuses life throws at me, because they’ve been conditioned to flex or tighten, depending on the situation. If I exercise regularly, I stop trying to make excuses, because it’s now become a habit. I don’t have to fight myself as hard each time I put on my workout gear and begin the familiar journey to the gym.
My mind now whispers, “Oh, that’s right. We’re exercising now. That’s what we do.”
You need to get into the same frame of mind with writing.
It needs to be done every day—or at least the days you specifically set aside to do your work.
Writing is an art. But it is also a job.
The longer you stay away from the work, the harder it is to begin again. It’s a battle warring inside our own minds, from the moment we think about sitting down to write. As Steven Pressfield says in The War of Art, it is “resistance rearing up with the sole purpose of distracting you from your goal.”
How do you fight resistance and transform the act of writing into something that becomes a part of your daily life? Treat it like a muscle. Work it hard. Rest when needed. Stretch to stay flexible. Repeat.
It’s a beautiful cycle of creativity, yet our minds fight us every single day. Physical exercise keeps our bodies healthy and strong. Writing keeps our souls balanced and fulfilled.
Each day, I put my kids on the bus, take care of the dogs, click on Good Morning America, and make my coffee. As it brews, I go through my day, preparing myself to meet the upcoming challenges. This always includes writing, though if I’m knee-deep in edits at the time, I keep my focus on revisions. I walk into my office, place my cup on my coffee warmer, and open e-mail. As I click through to see what I missed from the night before, and quickly check Facebook and Twitter, I try to keep in mind that this is just my warm-up. These are my stretches for the day. This is my routine; I cannot question myself. I ignore the internal pleas to do laundry and the phone call from an old friend who begs for a lunch date. I turn a blind eye to my too-long hair that desperately needs a trim, and the lack of Cheerios in the cupboard. These things can come later; life is waiting for me in all its messy, chaotic forms, but right now, right here, my only job is to write.
By 9 a.m., I realize I’ve reached my social media limit, and I open my new pages. I reread the last few paragraphs, tinker, and get my mind back into my characters. I sip my coffee. I slip on my Bose headphones and turn on my iPod. I always have a specific playlist for every book to help immerse myself in the story. It is eclectic, filled with old classics like Sinatra and Bennett, but also includes my favorites, such as Rob Thomas, Maroon 5, Lifehouse, Imagine Dragons, and Daughtry, and then goes all the way to soul-pumping top hits by Pitbull, Flo Rida, Chainsmokers, and yes, even Justin Bieber. Then, I write.
This is my heavy workout. If I’ve done it right, I take only brief moments to stretch or refill my coffee. The longer I stay away from the work, the easier it is for life to intrude and remind me of all the other things that need my attention. I face this battle every day, so it’s familiar. The majority of the time I win. Other times, I eat my lunch in front of Bravo television and The Real Housewives and get lost in the web of the Internet.
An hour later, maybe two, I force myself to walk back into the office. A fresh cup of coffee is within reach. My headphones lay in a tangle of wires, calling for me. I fidget, look at the window, mentally fight with myself. I don’t want to write anymore. I’ve done enough.
But I know I haven’t. Cursing, sometimes cranky, I open the pages again, this time slamming my headphones around my ears and glaring at my dog for having to do this again and again. Why is there no end to this? Why can’t I just take a nap or snuggle under a blanket and watch Netflix? Don’t I deserve some time? Don’t I need to concentrate on my family, the grocery shopping, and my hair, which is now hanging in my face and annoying me? Do I really have to do this again?
I read my last paragraph. It’s not as bad as I thought. I flip through a few of the last pages, surprised at the banter between hero and heroine. It’s witty. Maybe if I just add a touch right here ... and, boom, I’m writing again.
I am not always joyful. Sometimes when I go to the gym, I hate the people behind the counter who give me fake, cheerful smiles and the others who crowd in with their toned bodies and bright pink Lycra shorts. I hate their bouncy ponytails and the gleam of sweat on their brow. I climb the stairs toward the treadmill or a yoga class, cursing under my breath, wondering if I should just quit and go home because I haven’t lost any weight and it’s useless. I find my spot. Put down my water. The teacher greets us, the music starts. I look around and there is energy in the room. I begin again.
You will never get there. Ever. You may battle yourself every day, once a week, or ten times per day. But by treating writing like a muscle—one that needs a regular, maintained workout—you stop thinking about it so much. It’s something you just need to do.
And you do need to write. When you stop writing, there’s a ragged hole somewhere inside your gut, one that won’t go away. I wander around lost when I’m not writing. I’m on edge. Or depressed. I don’t have a purpose. My mind drowns out any clear thoughts with endless chatter. I get worse with each day. The guilt slithers and poisons worse than a snake. I don’t sleep or I sleep too much. I’m not complete.
It’s so much harder not to write. When I finally give in, my soul takes a long, deep breath and I’m whole again.
There are many reasons to concentrate on healthy writing habits. When you push yourself into a strict writing routine, or practice snatching pockets of time to work, you also build a strong foundation so that the muscle cannot easily tear. Writers are always dealing with rejection, whether they are published or unpublished. The more limber your writing muscles are, the quicker you will get back to work after the sting of rejection. And that sting comes not only from rejections you receive from publishers and agents. It comes from the editor who dismisses your new idea for a series, the blogger too overwhelmed to review your book, or the snooty look of a reader passing your signing table when she finds out you write romance. It never ends, but when you have the work to rely on, the sting glances off rather than penetrates.
There was a difficult time in my life before The Marriage Bargain was published. I was working my full-time job, and I’d been submitting a bunch of articles and essays to various magazines. I was excited about the possibilities, because I’d been working hard and really thought I had a shot at getting published.
I came home from work one day after being stuck in traffic for three hours. My boys were little and one was crying. My husband didn’t have dinner ready. I was miserable, sick with a cold. There were two envelopes on the table from magazine publishers.
I remember feeling certain one of them was an acceptance letter. I had been steadily writing and submitting for months, pushing past my doubts and trying to believe I’d finally get a break. The knowledge danced in my veins, and my fingers shook as I tore open the envelope.
And revealed two standard rejection letters.
I was heartbroken. I was tired—more tired than I’d been in a long, long time. I foggily remember telling my husband I was very sick and going to bed. I thought about giving up. I had made no money from writing, I spent endless hours I didn’t have working for something I didn’t know if I’d ever achieve. It was a low time in my life, and I truly believe if I hadn’t been working on that writing muscle, I may have stopped.
But it had become routine. My writing muscle was strong. I remember two days later, I trudged into my office, with my battered Walmart desk, cold air leaking through the windows, and a pile of kids clothes on the floor. I sat down in front of my computer that was on its last leg. I opened my manuscript, and grudgingly, just by damn habit, I began to write again.
Nothing but writing can help you during the bad times. Don’t look for external validation, like hitting a best-seller lists, kudos from other authors, raving reviews from readers, or publishers who finally want to buy your work to keep you moving forward. Yes, these are all exciting, and yes, they do give hope, but these validations only exist for a fleeting moment of glory and disappear in a wisp of smoke, leaving you completely alone, once again. Alone with the work.
The real value is in the simple act of writing and creating stories that will last. Stories that mean something to you. Work that muscle hard, and it will support you every time.
Writers need to remember not only to strengthen the writing muscle, but also the body. Sitting for long hours is productive for output, but the physical needs of the human body beg for a stretch, fresh air, and a decent meal. The healthier we are, the more apt we are to write better. As Robin Covington urges, “Maintain your health: This is something that I have let go and have seen the negative results of when I don’t take care of myself. When you feel better physically, your brain works better and you can be more productive. Now, I’m not a champion bodybuilder and I don’t run marathons but I do make it a priority to work out every day and to remind myself to get up and move while I am writing. Then, when I have to [pull] the occasional all-nighter, I can recover faster. I find that I can write longer and my creativity flows when I feel good.”
Do ten push ups and five sit-ups. Kidding! Kind of ... Remind yourself to walk or stretch in between long bouts of writing. And drink water. A healthier, stronger body will help you sit in the chair without developing wellness issues. Invest in an ergonomically designed keyboard and mouse to ward off carpal tunnel syndrome. Wear support gloves. Buy yourself some special pens that make you happy. Download new music on your iPod or smartphone. Buy your favorite color water bottle with the words writer on it to put on your desk. Invest in your writing muscles the way you’d invest in buying the perfect workout gear.