What Really Happens When You Write 30 Minutes a Day, Part 2

When I last left you, dear reader, I was explaining how many writers strive for a daily writing habit. We think of it as a best practice. The research shows that it improves over time your total pages and your sense of your own projects. The turtle always wins this race. Despite this knowledge, many folks can’t get a daily writing habit to stick.

My previous entry covered why people have difficulty getting started. I’d like to skip through some of the miscellaneous concerns. My explanation is in an effort to comfort you and spur you on toward the habit you want, so that you can have the productivity you need.

Hat tip to Courtney Marshall for her astute observation about time.

Let’s get real: one thirty-minute unit does not feel like another. That thirty minutes before class may not feel the same as the thirty minutes before your shower. That thirty minutes on your lunch break may help you reframe your mind so you have less room for the BS during the afternoon meetings. That thirty minutes at the end of a long day may feel like one more thing keeping you from evening loungewear and the newest music releases. Pick the thirty-minute block that you think will work for you. Pick an activity for the thirty-minute block that will make you feel accomplished. On teaching days, I beef up a bibliography or read one chapter or free write or mark up a section or revise a paragraph. For me, these are low stakes activities that help me touch my work, but can be time-bound by thirty minutes. The more concrete the goal, the easier it becomes to achieve it.

Another miscellaneous concern is that of interruption. When I was writing my first book, I had a public relations campaign. Some folks on this list will remember: my answer to “how are you” was about my book. I did not have to pretend to be a woman obsessed, but I did perform it. I was not-so-subtle about the fact that my mind and my time was occupied by the creative and intellectual processes of book writing. Far from being off-putting, this drove some delightful conversations about the book’s content and lead to some interesting rabbit holes. It also helped me receive help from the most unlikely of people.

If you lack my flair for the dramatic, FEAR NOT! The principle behind my little intellectual insurgency remains a sound one: announce your goal so that people understand your “no.” This allows you to erect a clear boundary. Those that attempt to transgress your boundaries will announce themselves as manipulative, selfish, or just plain rude. Either way, announcing your goal cuts down on the awkwardness of saying “no” to some commitments and meetings that should be emails.

The final miscellaneous concern is one of joy. Oh, I know you saw that coming. Make room for it. Joy is not a reward for your work. Joy is a necessity for being a human. Plan small weekend outings. Take time to make or order a good meal. Get the massage. Get the pedicure. Go for a walk. Do the things that bring you joy.

Stage whisper: The biggest switch I made was in understanding my own “big picture goal.” I write for me. If you notice, you rarely if ever see my institutional affiliation on my publications. I cottoned on (yep, pun intended) to the wisdom of Toni Morrison’s father. I work in one place and I live in another, which is to say that my joy, my peace, my sense of self is not finna be tied up in a job.

I hope that your big picture goals are specific to why you create and write in the first place. Inside me, there is a little five-year-old with a pencil too big for her hands writing her first essay. There is a third-grader with a crush on Grover Washington who blushes when he calls her “scientific.” (It was high praise.) I write for her excitement at reading, writing, knowing, and helping. My thirty minutes a day is to get to her, free her, be her. Just a little wiser. Just a little more filled with joy.