Something is always going to get between you and writing. Work. Family. Sports. Television. Social media. Reading. Laundry.
If you don’t make writing a priority, it’s going to be ousted from your day. I’m not saying it needs to be your top priority but you need to be intentional about carving time for word crafting. Even if it’s 15 minutes.
photo by clevercupcakes
1. Dessert first.
If you’re juggling multiple pieces, pick your favorite or the one you can crank out the fastest first. You’ll feel accomplished right away, and it'll give you the momentum to keep going.
If you’ve only got one piece you’re working on, don’t be afraid to write out of order. Whenever I say this, writers worry about scenes not fitting back together. It does happen but sometimes a scene needs to be written just so you can learn more about the character not because it'll end up in the book.
2. Know yourself.
For some people, their most productive writing time is the early morning. For others, afternoon. Personally, I have a hard time writing before the moon rises.
Know what time of day works best for you and do your best to protect that time. Mark it as a meeting on your calendar if you need to. Only let emergencies come between you and your sacred writing time.
3. Make it a game.
There’s the basic version: set the timer and write until the timer goes off.
And there are more complex versions: how many words can you get down before the water boils? How developed will the scene be when the laundry needs to be switched? How much can you accomplish before nature calls?
4. Master the art of being productive without really trying.
Learn how to write when you’re vacuuming, driving, and weeding. If your characters have permission to come out and play even if there’s no pencil nearby, they will use that to their full advantage.
It's a great idea to find a notebook that fits in your pocket or a stack of Post-its on your desk, kitchen counter, and beside table. There are even marker boards that can be used in the shower. If you’re driving, utilize the voice-record feature on your phone.
How do you find writing time?
PRACTICE
For fifteen minutes (set the timer) write a story using only three to five word sentences.
I loved him. I knew I did. You couldn’t tell me different. I fell deep for him.
He used to sing. It would be these songs. They caressed you. Made you feel at peace. I never would have guessed. That sweet talker’s a liar. He ripped my heart out. Still beating, it was!
I really thought he…
He doesn’t. He never has, not anybody. It was those songs. They lured me
in. I think he poisoned me.
– I found this quite challenging- to limit myself to so very few words. I’m not sure I’ve done it completely right!
Hi Aaliyah! I think you did great! It almost feels like a poem. I like that this seems like a girl in conflict, as she starts out saying she loved him, but blames it on the songs at the end.
Thank you very much! I actually think I’ll rewrite it more with poetry in mind. Hmm.
Agreed.
I agree. Good work, Aaliyah. Many people can relate to this situation!
Thank you. ^.^
I agree with Karen that this has a poetic feel. Great work!
The goal was to be challenging, Aaliyah. You did a great job.
“There’s only one left.” The cashier’s glove wrinkled. Teacups clinked. Conversation murmured. The air conditioning hummed. The sounds flooded my ears. The cafe was so small. The walls smelled of oak. The floors glistened with polish. Bookshelves lined one side. The books were old. Frequently used, however. Mostly by my mother.
She loved books. She loved coming to read. Mornings were her favorite. She sat by the window. That one there. The sunlight lit the pages. Kissed her cheeks. I sat under the table. Or in the chair across. Or at the bookshelf base. Or wherever I felt. And I’d watch her.
She had ordered my danish. Cherry with white frosting. Baked to match the sunlight. She handed it to me. The plate smiled with shine. She had forgotten her money. She headed back outside. I watched her as she went. The car was parked there. Right there. She walked out the door. It rang with glee. She walked five paces. I counted them. She unlocked her door. Then there he was. Out of nowhere.
I screamed for her. I screamed for eternity. I just stood and screamed. His knife caught the light. It wasn’t the same. She backed away, resisting. He opened his hand. He demanded her money. I didn’t need the danish. But she still said no. I remember her falling. The scramble behind me. Chairs scratching on the floor. Everyone leapt up. Stampeded to the door. Everyone but me.
Suddenly, he was gone. And my mother left behind. Heap of flesh and skirt. With the money in hand.
“There’s only one left.” The cashier repeated herself. I turned back around. One cherry danish left. I still didn’t want it. I paid for it anyway.
Wow. I could see all that playing out. Very powerful writing!
Masterful. I love how well fleshed out your story is. I really got a feel for the atmosphere. Bravo!
This is fantastic. I love the atmosphere that you’ve created with this.
Oh, sad! But a good piece of work.
Love it Katie! Great advice. I especially like the shower marker board idea. I can’t count the times my characters have come out to play while I’m in the shower and I’ve sploshed across the floor to find a pen to write down what they’re saying. Most inconvenient!
It really is. You could use expo markers on the mirror too. Try it in a discrete corner first but it should wipe right off.
Strange.. I always get ideas in the shower
I get mine with my hands in a sink full of soap suds.
Ainsley walked down 30th Street. The cars zoomed by. Their bass shook the ground. Men wobbled in saggy pants. She sighed. There was noise everywhere. There was no escaping it. She gritted her teeth.
“I hate this place”.
She walked on. She passed a brick building. It was covered in vines. Two men were yelling. One was taller and stronger. He yelled the loudest.
“Get out of here!” he yelled.
The other man cowered. He begged. “Please don’t fire me! I need this job! I have a family.”
The taller man fumed. “You don’t deserve it. Get out of my sight!”
He struck the smaller man. He fell to the ground. Ainsley was horrified. This man was a tyrant.
“Stop!” she cried. She stood between them. The tall man glared. It felt like being burned. “How can you beat him? He just wants a second chance.”
His dark skin glowed. Sweat dripped down his forehead. “He’s a junkie. I don’t employ worthless junkies.” His words were hard.
Ainsley stared at the beaten man. Perhaps he was a junkie. “Still, don’t beat him!”
The man resumed begging.
The taller man’s muscles rippled. “Go, now!”
The smaller man ran. He limped as he went. Ainsley glared at the tyrant.
“What a cruel place. What a cruel person.”
Then she walked away. The taller man watched. He felt something new, regret.
Lovely. I was surprise by the end. I was almost about the comment on the lack of a resolution, but that was a perfect way to end it!
Thanks, Aaliyah!
I like fudge. Fudge is good. This fudge is mine. It is not yours. It comes in squares. It comes in rounds. It smells like sugar. It tastes like cream. You take my fudge. I make you scream.
I was delighted by the rhythm in your piece. Your story was sweet! (Pun intended.)
Thank you. I like the pun. 🙂
You could write a children’s story starting with this one!
I wonder how one goes about writing a children’s story. Thanks for the encouragement, Christine.
Awe, can’t it be mine? Please?
No! My fudge. 🙂
The swallows harvest my lawn. Downing all those tasty mosquitoes. Goodbye forever, West Nile
That’s our reward. We put up a nest. Bought it specially for them. Heard they like space. No trees right near.
We picked the clothesline pole. Hubby bolted the nest securely. Shook it a few times. It wouldn’t budge.
First week in April. Still a few snow banks. Then we waited. And waited. Spring finally arrived. Then, happy day! “The swallows are back! Let’s see what they think.”
They looked, investigated, seemed satisfied. Started bringing twigs. Busy building bee. Then they abandoned it. Just sat on the clothesline.
“What gives?” I wondered. But swallows do that. Build, then take a breather.
Then one bird disappeared. Her little head peeked out. We checked. She was sitting on eggs!
Good mother; busy father. Days went by. We heard peeps! A successful hatch.
One day, out they poured. One after the other. Swallows filled the air. Six babes swooping and diving. Testing these new wings. Drinking in joy of living!
And now the youngsters forage. The nest hold eggs again. Parents raising a second batch Good for them. Less bites for us.
Next spring we’ll add another. Maybe several more. Good riddance, mosquitoes!
This was really neat, Christine. Good job.
I’m going to encourage swallows to nest around my house now. What a cool phrase, “drinking in the joy of living” is, too. Good story!
Thank you. There are some things to keep in mind when encouraging swallows to nest:
English sparrows are a tree swallow’s worst enemy–they have decimated the tree swallow population in the eastern states. Wrens come in a close second. Both of these will enter a swallow’s nest and destroy the eggs and or nestlings. So don’t put your swallow nest box up at the edge of a woods where a wren is apt to claim it. (They like bushy spots.)
Be sure the hole is 11/4″ in diameter or an English sparrow is apt to butt in and take over. If you have sparrows around your house, don’t put the nest box up close to the building.
We are really lucky that way. There are English sparrows in our yard but they are afraid to get too close. Also their main food supply is in the neighbor’s farm yard. The swallows know us as friends and feel free to nest near/on our house.
Don’t feed other (bigger) birds near your swallow nest. We have a finch feeder up and that isn’t a problem, but it distresses the swallows to have blackbirds & sparrows eating nearby.
Last of all, a nest box for swallows should to be 6″x 6″ because they produce 6 or 7 young at a time and the chicks get squashed and suffocated in small birdhouses.
They are terrific little birds — you’ll like having them around.
Christine
We stood at attention, saluting.
“Well?”the general demanded.
“Sir!”Billy shouted. “Mission a success!”
General Eisenhower frowned. “What mission is that?”
“What MISSION?” I echoed, stunned.
Billy:“The time machine, Sir. Surely you must-“
He stood up. “If you men are drunk-
The phone rang. He grabbed it.
“Yes, what is it? They did what? Give me five minutes, Lieutenant.”
Hanging up, he glared.
“General,”I began, smiling.
The phone again. He put up a hand. “Yeah…well we knew that! Look I’ll call back in-“
Hung up again. “Well?” he shouted at me.
I told him all at once. “We traveled to 1923 Sir. Found him in his cell.
Billy…shot him dead. Dead, I’m sure of it.”
“Shot WHO dead?? You murdered a man?”
“Hitler, General Eisenhower. We killed Adolf Hitler!”
Frowning, he sighed: “Adolf who? Look, file a report. I’ll read it later. Then report to your units. Germany just invaded Canada. We’re at war.”
I just gasped.
“You men are dismissed,” Ike said. Billy and I saluted. Dismayed, we turned and left.
Billy muttered, “Made no difference.”
“We’ll go back, try again.”
“Are you out of-“
“It’ll work this time, Billy.” I created excitement. “I know it will. I know it! Thirteenth time’s a charm!”
Dude! Please tell me you’re continuing this! I definitely want to know what happens next. This would be an awesome prologue to a kick ass novel.
Thank you, Rw, for your kind words. I consider this a self-contained short-short. I’d love to publish a collection or shorts from many authors, with the theme of going back in time to undo a terrible thing (or person), but the missions backfiring.
Die, Hitler, die!
That was just plain awesome. Hope you continue with this.
Thanks, Timm. See my comment to Rw above.
once there was a boy. he loved to play soccer. but he was never good at it.
he lacked control. he read many books. but still coudnt improve. he hired a couch. that didnt work. finally, he was disappointed. he stoped watching soccer. he then had a dream. he woke up and started working. he was making a PC game. he used his skills. he worked tirelessly. finaly. FIFA was intoduced.
You asked how do I find writing time. Look up here please. http://feeds.feedburner.com/ArtByTomas
Thank you for the question. It is a time I am writing.
It is a time when I did not sleep.
Though the above is the truth it sounds very pathetically.
Meanwhile it is so indeed.
Al 24 hours are my hours because I am out of any other work due my disability. While confessing the last loudly I have caught how rich I was.
I had all the time.
In such light my disability revealed itself as my greatest benefactor.
I should know it, really.
“You know this.” Those were his words. Mr. Wells. Always the encourager. But I didn’t. I couldn’t recall this.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know. Don’t know what it is…” my voice trailed off. Embarassment set in. Maybe it was evidenced already. Several students were pointing.
“Well, this is review.” he replied, “How could you not know?”
“I never saw it before.” Ninth grade would be tough. Every day like this? Please, no Lord! Can I go back?
“We may need to re-place you.” said Mr. Wells. What? How do you replace a person? “I can see you’re confused. Let me try again. You might be here mistakenly. In Geometry, that is. You did Algebra last year?”
“Yes sir. But, it…umm.” I was fumbling, looking stupider. Stupid small town! Stupid Algebra teacher. Stupid job transfer! Stupid big city! Or maybe just stupid me.
By now the class jeered. All hope was lost.
“What are you, dumb?” was the smart-aleck’s taunt. I hope that doesn’t stick. Starting ninth grade as “Dumb Kid”. Oh great.