Why You Clean the House Instead of Writing
You want to write. You really do.
But somehow the dishes need doing first. The floor needs sweeping. That closet you've ignored for six months suddenly demands your attention.
An hour later, you haven't written a word. And you feel worse than when you started.
I used to think this was a discipline problem. I thought I just needed to try harder. Want it more. Stop being lazy.
But that's not what's happening.
Your Mind Is Trying to Help
Here's what I'm learning about that resistance.
Your mind wants to do something good. It wants you to create awesome stuff. It wants you to be happy with what you make.
But what if you're not? What if you sit down and the words are terrible? What if you finally try and discover you're no good at this?
That fear is real. And your mind would rather protect you from it than let you find out.
So it offers you the dishes. The laundry. Anything with a clear finish line and no risk of failure.
Your mind isn't sabotaging you. It's scared for you.
The Problem With "Just Write"
Everyone says the same thing. Just sit down and write.
But "write" is not a task. It's a void.
Write what? How much? To what standard? Your mind doesn't know. So it panics. It sees an enormous undefined thing and freezes.
You're not lacking willpower. You're lacking a warm-up.
What Actually Works
Athletes don't walk onto the field and play at full intensity. Musicians don't start with the hardest piece. They warm up first. They give their body and mind something easy to do before the real work.
Writing needs the same thing.
Instead of sitting down to "write your novel," sit down to write something that doesn't count.
I keep a list of simple prompts next to my manuscript. Things like:
Sally sees Mitch with the horses.
Mitch watches Sally cooking breakfast.
These scenes might never go in the book. That's the point. They're not supposed to be good. They're supposed to get me moving.
Another Way In
Sometimes I don't even write scenes. I interview my characters.
Out loud. Into a voice memo. Just talking.
"What are you doing this morning, Sally?"
And then I answer as her. Sally's miserable. She's trying to make pancakes but she doesn't know how. Mitch is ten feet away, watching her, and she wishes he'd either help or leave.
It's loose. It's messy. It sounds ridiculous if anyone overheard me.
But five minutes later, I actually know what to write. Because I've already started.
The Standard Your Mind Needs
Here's what I think is really going on.
Your mind needs to know what "good enough" looks like before it'll let you begin. When you sit down to "write," there's no standard. Just infinite possibility and infinite ways to fail.
But when you sit down to write a throwaway scene about Sally and the pancakes? The standard is low. The stakes are nothing. Your mind relaxes.
And relaxed minds create.
Try This
Before your next writing session, don't open your manuscript.
Open a blank page. Write one sentence about your character doing something mundane. Something that will never make it into the final draft.
John looks for his keys.
Maria waits for the coffee to brew.
Then write two more sentences. Then five. Don't try to be good. Just move.
By the time you open your real project, you'll already be warm.
What's been stopping you from starting—and what would a five-minute warm-up look like for your project?