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1. At the moment contemporary fantasy. But I want dip into as many as I can. I have plans for a a few Si-Fi's, a physiological thiller, a horror at some point I even want to try eroticica.

2. The ritual by Adam Nevill, The plague dogs by Richard Adams, I'm fine by Shaelin Bishop and Under the skin by Michel Faber.

3. Saffron Miller.

4. I can't really think of any off the top of my head, honestly I don't really feel one way or the other about tropes what matters to me is how it was done.

5. I just went to a random name generator website untill I found a name I liked. Then I looked through a list of last names untill I found one that sounded nice with it. Thats how I name all my characters.

6. I think carefully about the main plot points in my head, getting from A to B I fly off the seat of my pants so a bit of both.

7. Yes I have a website, I encourage anyone to check it out.

8. I don't read or write much at all... I do like a tale of two rulers, but thats about it.

9. maple pecan tarts.

@lazy-author @converginglives @shaelinwrites

Writeblr Friends

Fyi I want to be friends with all of you, so please reblog with

What genre(s) you write

What’s on your reading wish list

Your favorite character from your current WIP

Some writing tropes you like

The story behind your WIP’s name

Are you a pantser or plotter?

Do you post your work somewhere?

Do you also read/write fanfic? If yes, for the same genres as what you write?

Your favorite dessert. Because why not.

And tag some more people you want to get to know better/want writeblr to know better!

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*gets excited about the story i’m going to act out in my head before i fall asleep*

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ive been called out

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Random fact tag

@whollyart tagged me for a Random fact about myself, if your really that curious I'll tell you a secret. I hate apple sauce or that is, when I was very young I ate so much, my body rejected the last spoonful I had about fifteen years ago.

@johbee-love and @designs-by-sloan your turn.

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Prompt writing Group? 20,Apr,2018 - 04,May, 2018. Prompt: IT’S NOT MY FAULT. Final word count: 2270. Written By: Keenon Rhodes.

It’s not my fault I am trespassing, the hotel receptionist didn’t interact with me, No ‘How can I help you today?’, not a ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’, not even a simple ‘welcome!’, just a half second uninterested glance. It’s thanks to her negligence that I can do something I have always wanted to do; see the inside of this place.

This building is much older than I thought it was, I knew it was old but seeing a year really puts it into perspective. In the lobby there is a painting of the hotel from the perspective of the streets in 1913 when it first opened. In the painting there is only one street, a lot more trees and one other building; the train station that is still open today.

Let me think, my grandmother died in 91’ she was 83 at the time meaning she was born in… 1908? So she would have been five! Wow my grandmother is older than this place, or was. I sound like a little kid thinking like that it’s kinda nice. I remember she told me she had stayed in this hotel on her wedding night on the tenth floor, said looking out the window was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Unfortunately I need a card key to gain access to the elevator, that’s okay I’ll just walk along green marble floor for a while, it’s unexpectedly empowering. Maybe it’s seeing a reflection of various shades of mossy greens looks quite handsome I think I will sit in one of the lobby chairs, admire the reflections of others.

The upholstery of the chair look like it had a lot of care put into it, very intricate and the closer I look at it the more detail I notice, like a hand made tapristy, truly a work of beauty. I really don’t belong here, I must stick out like a sore thumb everyone I have seen walk by are wearing some very fashionable fine looking clothing. I am just here in jeans and a t-shirt Is it normal for someone to walk in from the street, sit down and watch people as they walk by?

The sight of a family in the reflection compels me to break my eyes away from the emerald floor, they embodied aristocracy like whoever designed this hotel also designed this family. One of the kids has a card and activate the elevator, I decided to wait for the elevator with them. All of us are completely silent watching the red digital numbers count down.

I remember when I was about fourteen mom and dad took my sister and I to Ottawa and the whole time we were so loud, constantly making jokes and telling stories it’s like we never ran out of things to talk about. We even got a noise complaint from another guest in the motel we were staying in, but that was on our last night so we just ended up being louder. It was a lot of fun.

The elevator door slides open making almost no noise, it’s spacious enough to fit a couch which half of the family floop onto as soon as they get in. Without looking up from his phone the father presses on the button marked seven I step in and press the button marked ten. Just like that I am on my way? No one is going to see if I have a card of my own?

The sharp ping from the elevator hitting floor ten breaks my thought, I was so wrapped up in my own head I didn’t even realize the family stepped off the elevator. Did one of them try to ask me something? I must be mistaken. The door of the elevator begins to close, I stick my hand out activating the motion sensor, the door jumps to a stop like a startled rabbit before slowly retreating. I step onto floor ten...I think all the doors are locked.

Why did I never get a pet rabbit? I remember at one point in my life I had that thought or at least the idea of having a pet rabbit. Now that I think about it, was it that I wanted a rabbit as a friend? How young was I when I had this thought? For some reason I remember my hand was full of marshmallow. RIGHT when I was four my parents had taken me camping for the first time. I burnt my hand trying to grab a hot marshmallow off the fire, I must have thought about wanting a rabbit as a friend right before the pain hit me, I wonder if I still have the scar.

It’s there, it’s very faint, I have to stretch my fingers very wide and hold it at a specific angle so the light hits it just right, but it’s there. I use to look at it so much even show it off when I was in my teens, it use to be so much more predominant I guess time really does heal all wounds. I lower my hand and notice something directly in front of me, on the ceiling; a security camera pointed right at me.

How long have I been standing here staring at my palm like a weirdo? Has hotel security been watching me this whole time? I let my arm fall back to my side and walk away from the mechanical gaze but now I can’t shake the feeling that I am being watched very closely. I turn the corner and find another camera, this one is not looking directly at me like it’s pretending not to notice me.

I have walked past the first camera I spotted at least nine times now, they must know I am here. Any minute now I am going to be thrown out, possibly even charged. I need to find some way out soon, but all the doors need a key card, so does the elevator. I have to get out, I need to- hang on, this door is different.

First thing, this door is about two centimeters into the wall unlike the other doors which stick out about half a centimeter. The door itself looks older, that it’s tattered, the paint is thin in some places, particularly beside the doorknob which is what makes the door stand out the most. The other doors have handles with a slot on top to insert your key card, this door has the most simple grey, slightly beaten knob you could think of, with a slot on the front for an average everyday key, the best part? Someone either forgot or simply did not lock it.

Whatever the reason the door was left unlocked is ultimately beyond me, what does matter is how irresponsible it is, I mean look at me. I was trying to get away from security and now I am in this cramped hallway. Wouldn't it be interesting if the reason was for convenience? Well it’s not my problem.

It looks nothing like the rest of the hotel, it’s like I walked into a completely different building. This hall is almost as narrow as the door I walked through. The walls, a basic drywall, painted with a plain eggshell colour. The floor, large evenly squared tiles, same shade as the walls. Every surface is so dirty is like looking at rotten eggs.

In my last year of high school my friends and I had planned on egging the teachers cars, except for Mr.Gardner he was cool. We had let twenty cartons of eggs sit out in the sun for a week! Then Adrien went a bragged about the plan to whoever would listen and of course Peggy Watts found out and went crying to the teachers about our plan. I wonder whatever became of them, not just my friends but Mr.Gardner and Peggy too.

I just realized, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I was not paying attention to where I was going, lost track of where I am. I remember every few feet the hallway broke left or right into more hallways, I guess I chose whatever way looked more interesting. Eventually the walls became a maze of pipes and wires, except this wall in front of me now it’s littered with graffiti and the hallway does not break left or right, hold on there is a door frame around this wall but no door.

It’s a service elevator, I didn’t notice it at first but on the left wall on the other side of the door frame there is a number pad. Beside it is a big button with an arrow pointing to the ceiling, below that is a hole, with a pin sticking out of the center of it, I bet it originally had a big button, with an arrow pointing the opposite direction as the one above it.

I press the top button, I hear a faint click but nothing happens, I try holding it, nothing. Maybe it’s broken? I press on the pin in the hole, I hear a similar click but still nothing. Well I have cornered myself, it’s only a matter of time before someone finds me, whether it's security or maintenance makes no difference, this is the end on my journey. Might as well have a peek behind the curtain that is the hotel employees.

My first job was customer service at a chain restaurant, it was terrible and the only reason I took it was because I wanted my own car. It was in my last year of university and was tired of taking the bus, my parents were willing to pay for a lot of things while I went to university, but a car? That was a luxury in there mind. I was at that job for less than a year then I got my first accounting job and never looked back.

If there is one thing I miss about that job it would have to be the collective bitterness all the other employees had towards most of the customers in general especially the regulars, you would at least expect one of them to have been awesome to deal with, no everyone is headache in one way or another. Looks like these hotel employees agree with me.

‘I hate dealing with people’ is either carved or written at least three times on each wall, on one wall someone used permanent marker to write ‘I want to escape this hell hole’ and judging by the shape of the ‘E’ the same person wrote ‘the old management was better’ on the wall across from it. Below that someone wrote in blue pen ‘Fuck off Eric! the old management sucked’ whoever wrote that also wrote ‘dickbutt’ on the far wall, opposite the door frame. A drawing of a cartoon character I have seen circling around the internet, standing boldly on the word that names it. One person simply carved a variety of profanitys all over the place along with a carving of four numbers.

2270 I punch that into the number pad, press the big button, hear a click, the revving of an electric motor, the sensation of being hoisted upwards, concrete wall slowly covers the opening I walked into. Really? It was that easy? At no point upper management saw the elevator code exposed for the whole world to see? Who would have thought such negligence was aloud.

Because there is no door on the elevator because of that I have the pleasure of watching a moving mural of hastily written profanities I really do enjoy seeing as much of it as I can. Suddenly the elevator comes to a halt. But there is no hallway in front of me just concrete and graffiti. I try the code and button again but nothing, before the idea of being trapped enters my mind I hear a rattling behind me.

As I turn around I remember the door frame was also on the other side of the elevator. I find a small room there is a pile of copper pipes leaning against the far wall, a plethora of 2x4’s cut to random lengths, a few broken and abandoned tools and cans of paint with the lid haphazardly placed on top. One can in particular calls out to me, it’s dried soft yellow colour drips down the side of it almost compels me to remember.

I can’t or that is I don’t want to remember it’s...it’s just too much. Turning my attention to the source of the rattling I suppress the memory once again. I walk up the four steps leading to a steel door which leads to the roof of this hotel. I step outside, greeted by a heavy warm wind and pock-faced man, who looks to be about my age smoking a cigarette.

I give him a simple nod and walk further away from the door, he greets it with a long pull from his cigarette and a suspicious scowl, I can feel his glare burning into my back as I admire the sight of my city from this perspective. It’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen I wish I could have seen stuff like this everyday.

As I draw closer to the edge I can hear the pock-faced man shouting something, it doesn’t matter what he has to say it’s already too late. I close my eyes and continue walking and let one comfort envelope me; the truth that it’s not my fault.

@lazy-author​ @writersroses​ @willowandsnow @fightingforwriting @melodielgrace @jaimistoryteller @imawriterhelp @fictionpot @panticwritten

Sorry if I missed tagging anyone, I hope you enjoy my story and I look forward to reading everyone else. I had a lot of fun writing this. For anyone who is a little lost.

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For any Canadians out there like myself. 

https://www.canada.ca/en/public-health/services/public-health-notices/2017/public-health-notice-outbreak-e-coli-infections-linked-romaine-lettuce.html

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“I’ve learned people are made of layers and sometimes you have to wait until the next one is revealed.”

— @sixwordssayitall

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Prompt writing Group?

I am in desperate need to take a break from world building this BEAST of a book/s.  I was going to ask you guys for some fun prompts for let’s say a 2000-3000 word short story BUT then I had a better idea. 

I thought it would be cool if a group of us chose a prompt together,  we go off and write our stories, (maybe set a weeks deadline or something) 

Then, we share our interpretations of the prompt on here. I think it would be a really great way to support other writers, improve our own writing and get to practice writing things that we wouldn’t otherwise get to write. No pressure, just spontaneous, fun pieces of writing. 

If you’re interested or have an idea of a prompt, comment on this post and let’s see if we can get a group going. I’m going to tag this and other posts with :   #shortstoryshare 

please please let me know if you want to take part!

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I have not watched Mad Men nor do I have the desire. So please understand that everything I am about to talk about, will be in relation to the characters I do know: BoJack and Rick. Also I can have a hard time explaining my abstract thoughts so apologies in advance if you find what I am about to say confusing or repetitive.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with relating to a character that is flawed. It can allow us to see a reflection of ourselves, parts of us that perhaps we didn’t notice until it was displayed in an exaggerated manner. Or it can show us the type of person we could end up becoming if one continues down a particular path.

For example, back in 2005 Charlie and the chocolate factory came out, the character I related to the most was Mike Teavee, I noticed all these small things he did that I felt I was doing or at least starting to do. Seeing how the other characters reacted to how it did things kinda opened the window of how people looked at me and in turn how I was looking at myself. I related to him particularly in the moment he was destroying the pumpkins, because I realized what I don’t want to be like that.

Using the same movie, Violet Beauregarde in the final moments of the movie had her body permanently altered because of her own action, she exit the building entirely blue, performing cirque du soleil flexibility and proud to do it. As unfortunate of a situation Violet got herself into she accepted what she did was wrong, and instead of focusing on the positive of it becoming what she believes to be a better person. I related to her in that moment because I wanted to be more like that.

Idolizing a character is not necessarily a bad thing so long as you are trying to use what the character as a means of self improvement, sometimes that means mimicking a character as a means of getting into the mindset of how that character thinks. One can relate to something so small about BoJack perhaps it’s the comments that leaves him speechless, because it was exactly how said person reacted. That moment can be so powerful that you almost feel compelled to act more like BoJack just to understand yourself more.

Can it be annoying to deal with? Absolutely! We all go through moments or phases we look back on and regret, but it’s those regretful moments that make the biggest impact on shaping who we are today. Take solace in knowing that someday that person running around loudly proclaiming ‘I am such a Rick’ will one day notice the expression on morty’s face when Rick does something upsetting.

I don’t think relating to a toxic behaviour is necessary bad, so long as you're using it as a tool to become better in some aspect or another. I don’t think that means the medium went over your head, it just means that's how you interpreted the story at that time in your life. I like to believe that everyone is constantly trying to better themselves and become what they view as someone worthy of being looked up to

Of course this is just my opinion that no one asked for, not everyone will agree with me and that’s okay.

Rick Sanchez, Don Draper, and BoJack Horseman are three examples of a popular male character trope: the intelligent, talented, toxic, disconnected, detached man who fails to connect with others and is consistently and wildly self destructive in his quest to fill an emotional void with anything but human connection. The problem with this character archetype is that a lot of people, a specific subset of men in particular, miss the entire point of the character.

They’re so easily sucked in by the flashy veneer of masculine bravado on the surface of these damaged characters that they fail to understand why the characters are presented this way: you do not want to be like them. You are not supposed to identify with them or find them relatable, you are not supposed to sincerely root for them, they are antiheros.

In spite of being the protagonist Rick, Don, and BoJack are almost never the “good guy” in any given scenario, they are almost always selfishly motivated, and explicitly harming innocent people for their own gain.

Idolizing and lionizing these characters as an ideal or something to aspire to entirely misses the concept of the characters, and worse, celebrates behavior that is explicitly shown to be toxic.

If you identify as “a Rick” then the entire concept of the show has gone completely over your head.

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some lamebrain: power of friendship stories are so corny

me:

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IMPORTANT

attention all Officials, all Tumblr users, whoever the fuck you are.

This is severely important.

Ever sit down after a stressful day, watch your favorite youtuber, do commissions, etc.? Well in FOUR DAYS, that can all be taken away very easily. We’re so close yet so *far* from possibly saving the internet, and those who’s lives depend on it. Within this blog, there will be a link to a petition to stop net neutrality from being killed. There are many people who’s jobs are online. online schooling. the internet is extrememly important, and we can’t let the FCC take it away! Instead of just merely liking this post, sign the petition and reblog this post!

>> Here’s the link. <<

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It’s no secret that I dislike winter, but it gets really difficult for me. It’s cold, dark, everything is dreary and the wait for spring long. I’m still waiting for spring to arrive - even just the other day we got another inch or two of snow. So I wanted to try and give myself a break to draw a bunch of my favourite things to make the wait for spring easier… literally and metaphorically.

On another note, this morning I created a Ko-fi page! There’s a link on my tumblr homepage. If you like my art and want to support it, feel free to leave me a tip! Every little bit counts and I’d really appreciate the help!!

Artwork and character © 2018 Sloan Please don’t use, repost or edit without permission; thanks!

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I have a collection of writing I did all the way from middle school. Let me tell you how real the cringe gets when I crack that open. I will never, never publish that stuff, HOWEVER… I look back at it as a way to see, how much I have grown as a writer (A philosophy I learned from my wife).

It’s all just loose thoughts and abstract concepts, chicken scratch that only I can translate. It drags me back to the magic world of, the naive angst so often associated with teenagers.

Sometimes the abstruse inspires me in ways, I would never expect. Sometimes it cringes me so hard, I worry I’ll get an ulcer.

It's very discouraging to hear you say that none of your old writing is salvageable. I understand that it's a personal statement, not a catch-all for other writers and that you feel that way because you've learned so much about the craft since then. It still makes me worry that nothing I write now means anything except as practice for when I can write "for real." (I don't mean this as a callout or anything; I just...I'm anxious now.)

My old writing is only unsalvageable because I decided it wasn’t worth salvaging. You can always choose to keep working on a project if it’s something you care about, no matter the quality. You are always writing for real if you want to be writing for real. Looking back critically is a natural part of growing as an artist and growing up as a person, but it doesn’t mean the work you create now, created five years ago, or will create in five years, isn’t real or isn’t meaningful. If you later decide you don’t care about a project, you can move on, but even if that is something you decide you will have put in the work that will have helped you improve. And if you don’t want to move on, you can keep working on it and keep working on it. 

Most importantly, you wrote something you cared about. No matter how you feel about it later on, writing is something we do because it matters to us, we get fulfillment from writing it, so for that, it’s always worth it. 

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Tumultuous Times for Tumblcoin 

Tumblcoin appears to be more volatile than ever with a valuation high of $19,551 and low of $7,294 in the last four minutes alone. Tumblcoin News’ senior financial advisor, Brick Whartley, has absolutely no idea what is going on.

“I’ve been confused for most of the day,” Whartley stated. “Tumblcoin’s trajectory is impossible to predict. I just want to go home to my family. No one told me the finance field would be like this. I wanted to be a screenwriter, you know? I should’ve listened to my heart.” 

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For the most part I agree with you, I myself struggled with "writer's injury" and to a degree still do. Personally I found trying to limit my writing by adding a timer only stressed me out more, that's the main problem I had with the blog post. It's worded gives one the impression that a timer WILL help you get over particular anxiety's, but that is not always the case. Your post reminded me of the obstacles I had to over come, how I did it and helped strengthened my convictions. Keep it up!

Thanks for letting me know! I base so many of my suggestions on personal experience that I rely on you guys telling me if something doesn’t work for you.

So anyone, if parts of the writing rehab plan make you anxious and you’d rather not do them, you’re not alone!

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Rehab for writing injuries

You’ve heard of “making writing a habit,” and you’ve tried, but the pressure to write fills you with horrible pain and dread. You spend all your time wishing you could write but somehow never writing. The “make it a habit” approach doesn’t work for you. But you still want to write, maybe even regularly. Is there nothing you can do?

Here is an alternative approach to try. A rehab program, as it were, for writers with a psychological “writing injury” that has destroyed their desire to write and replaced it with shame, anxiety and dread.

If you have a writing injury, you probably acquired it by being cruel to yourself, by internalizing some intensely critical voice or set of rules that crushes your will to write under the boot-heel of “you should.” “You should be writing better after all the years of experience you’ve had.” “You should be writing more hours a day, you’ll never get published at this rate.” “You should write more like [Hilton Als/Jeffrey Eugenides/Octavia Butler/Terry Pratchett/etc.].” “You should write faster/more/better/etc./etc.”

You know what, though? Fuck all that. Self-abuse may have featured heavily in the cool twentieth-century writer’s lifestyle, but we are going to treat ourselves differently. Because 1) it’s nicer, and 2) frankly, it gets better results. My plan here is to help you take the radical step of caring for yourself.

1) First of all: ask yourself why you aren’t writing. 

Not with the goal of fixing the problem, but…just to understand. For a moment, dial down all of the “goddammit, why can’t I just write?” blaring in your head and be curious about yourself. Clearly, you have a reason for not writing. Humans don’t do anything for no reason. Try to discover what it is. And be compassionate; don’t reject anything you discover as “not a good enough excuse.” Your reasons are your reasons.

For me, writing was painful because I wanted it to solve all my problems. I wanted it to make me happy and whole. I hated myself and hoped writing would transform me into a totally different person. When it failed to do that, as it always did, I felt like shit.

Maybe writing hurts because you’ve loaded it with similarly unfair expectations. Or maybe you’re a victim of low expectations. Maybe people have told you you’re stupid or untalented or not fluent enough in the language you write in. Maybe writing has become associated with painful events in your life. Maybe you’ve just been forced to write so many times that you can no longer write without feeling like someone’s making you do it. Writing-related pain and anxiety can come from so many different places.

2) Once you have some idea of why you’re not writing…just sit with that.

Don’t go into problem-solving mode. Just nod to yourself and say, “yes, that’s a good reason. If I were me, I wouldn’t want to write either.” Have some sympathy for yourself and the pain you’re in.

3) Now…keep sitting with it. That’s it, for the moment. No clever solutions. Just sympathize. And, most importantly, grant yourself permission to not write, for a while.

It’s okay. You are good and valuable and worthy of love, even when you aren’t writing. There are still beautiful, true things inside of you.

Here’s the thing: it’s very hard for humans to do things if they don’t have permission not to do them. It’s especially hard if those things are also painful. We hate feeling trapped or compelled, and we hate having our feelings disregarded. It shuts us down in every possible way. You will feel more desire to write, therefore, if you believe you are free not to write, and if you believe it’s okay not to do what causes you pain.

(By the way: not having permission isn’t the same as knowing there will be negative consequences. “If I don’t write, I won’t make my deadline” is different from “I’m not allowed not to write, even if it hurts.” One is just awareness of cause and effect; the other is a kind of slavery.)

4) For at least a week, take an enforced vacation from writing, and from any demands that you write. During this time, you are not permitted to write or give yourself grief for not writing. 

This may or may not be reverse psychology. But it’s more than that.

Think of it as a period of convalescence. You’re keeping your weight off an injury so it can heal, and what’s broken is your desire to write. Pitilessly forcing yourself to write when it’s painful, plus the shame you feel when you don’t write, is what broke that desire. So, for a week (or a month, or a year, or however long you need) tell yourself you are taking a doctor-prescribed break from writing.

This will feel scary for some folks. You might feel like you’re giving up. You might worry that this break from writing feels too good, that your desire to write might never return. All I can say is, I’ve been there. I’ve had all those fears and feelings. And the desire to write did return. But you gotta treat it like a tiny crocus shoot and not stomp on it the second it pokes its little head up. Like so:

5) Once you feel an itch to write again—once you start to chafe against the doctor’s orders—you can write a tiny bit. Only five or ten minutes a day. 

That’s it. I’m serious: set a timer, and stop writing when the time’s up. No cheating. (Well…maybe you can take an extra minute to finish your thought, if necessary.)

Remember: these rules are not like the old rules, the ones that said, “you must write or you suck.” These rules are a form of self-care. You are not imposing a cruel, arbitrary law, you are being gentle with yourself. Not “easy” or “soft”—any Olympic athlete will tell you that hard exercise when you’ve got an injury is stupid and pointless, not tough or virtuous. If you need an excuse to take care of yourself, that’s it: if you’re injured, you can’t perform well, and aggravating the injury could take you out of the competition permanently.

For the first few days, all of the writing you do should be freewriting. Later, you can do some tiny writing exercises. Don’t jump into an old project you stalled out on. Think small and exploratory, not big and goal-oriented. And whatever you do, don’t judge the output. If you have to, don’t even read what you write. This is exercise, not performance; this is you stretching your atrophied writing muscles, not you trying to write something good. At this stage, it literally doesn’t matter what you write, as long as you generate words. (Frankly, it would be kind of weird and unfair if your writing at this point was good.)

6) After a week, you can increase your time limit if you want. But only a little! 

Spend a week limiting yourself to, say, twenty minutes a day instead of ten. When in doubt, set your limit for less than you think you’ll need. You want to end each writing session feeling like you could keep going, not like you’re crawling across the finish line.

Should you write every day? That’s up to you. Some people will find it helpful to put writing on their calendar at the same time each day. Others will be horribly stifled by that. You get to decide when and how often you write, but two things: 1) think about what you, personally, need when you make that decision, and 2) allow that decision to be flexible.

Remember, the only rule is, don’t go over your daily limit. You always have permission to write less.

And keep checking in with yourself. Remember how this program began? If something hurts, if your brain is sending you “I don’t wanna” signals, respect them. Investigate them, find out what their deal is. You might decide to (gently) encourage yourself to write in spite of them, but don’t ignore your pain. You are an athlete, and athletes listen to their bodies, especially when they’re recovering from an injury. If writing feels shitty one day, give yourself a reward for doing it. If working on a particular project ties your brain in knots, do a little freewriting to loosen up. And always be willing to take a break. You always have permission not to write.

7) Slowly increase your limit over time, but always have a limit. 

And when you’re not writing, you’re not writing. You don’t get to berate yourself for not writing. If you find yourself regularly blazing past your limit, then increase your limit, but don’t set large aspirational limits in an effort to make yourself write more. In fact, be ready to adjust your limit lower.

When it comes to mental labor, after all, more is not always better. Apparently, the average human brain can only concentrate for about 45 minutes at a time, and it only has about four or so high-quality 45-minute sessions a day in it. That’s three hours. So if you set your daily limit for more than three hours, you may be working at reduced efficiency, when you’d be better off saving up your ideas and motivation for the next day. (Plus, health and other factors may in fact give you less than 3 good hours a day. That’s okay!)

Of course, if you’re a professional writer or a student, external pressures may force you to write when your brain is tired, but my point is more about attitude: constant work is not necessarily better work. So don’t make it into a moral ideal. We tend to think that working less is morally weak or wrong, and that’s bullshit. Taking care of yourself is practical. Pushing yourself too hard will just hurt you and your writing. Also, your feelings are real and they matter. If you ignore or abuse them, you’ll be like a runner trying to run on a broken ankle.

I know I’m going to get someone who says, “if you’re a pro, sometimes you gotta ignore your feelings and just get the work done!” 

NO. 

You can, of course, choose to work in spite of any pain you’re feeling. But ignore that pain at your peril. Instead, acknowledge the pain and be compassionate. Forgive yourself if pain slows you down. You are human, so don’t hold your feet to the fire for having human limitations. Maybe a deadline is forcing you to work anyway. But make yourself a cup of hot chocolate to get you through it, literally or metaphorically. Help yourself, don’t force yourself. If you’ve had a serious writing injury, that shift in attitude will make all the difference. 

In short: treat yourself as someone whose feelings matter.

Try it out! And let me know how it goes!

Ask a question or send me feedback!