Bricklayers lay bricks. Writers write.

Writing is a job like any other. Have a creative block? Bullshit. Can’t get inspired? I don’t believe you. Can’t find the time? Re-evaluate your priorities. Purposeful pen-pushers sit their butt in the chair daily and do the fucking work.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot on writing while doing very little of it. Much like the wind, my writing fluctuates: When there’s a gush, I spend hours tapping away, while in lulls, I find it daunting to get my monthly newsletter out.

The adage 'I hate to write, but I love having written' captures the contradiction of emotions inherent in the writer’s life. There are moments of curiosity, clarity, and commitment, where I revel in the process, and others are marked by fear, scattered brain, and self-sabotage, making writing a dubious affair.

My attitude toward the craft ebbs and flows. I know I have the discipline to do the work, but I question my level of devotion. In light of this, I've compiled ten musings to ponder—perhaps you've experienced similar sentiments along your writing journey.

On Accountability

When I first noticed my writing habits waning, I joined a writing circle—a motley crew of lonely creators writing alone, together. We hold each other accountable simply by showing up. Employing a method called gateless writing, based on principles of Zen inquiry and creative neuroscience, removes the fear of rejection from the creative process. It enables you to quiet your inner critic and access parts of yourself that help you find your flow. Recommend.

On Distractions

It's all too tempting to open another browser tab under the guise of 'research.' At home, the fridge or the laundry machine often summons me. And don’t get me started about smartphones. The mere presence of your phone can hijack one’s attention. Success in writing often hinges on eliminating distractions like these. Once done, I’ve already won half the battle of getting words onto the page.

On Deepness

Deep work, deep conversations, and deep play guide me toward deep writing. Here I can write to figure out what I think. I can interrogate my belief system. I can discover who I am. By time-blocking, I avoid getting bogged down in the mundane, protect my most creative times of the day, and ensure I maintain my flow. With changing seasons and moods, I continually groom my schedule to honor the depth I value.

On Experiments

Sometimes, after laboring over a piece for weeks and finally shipping it, there's nothing but tumbleweeds. Other times, sharing an embryo of an idea early (a shitty first draft) garners a warm reception. If I channel my inner Rick Rubin I might not care what the audience thinks, but in the end, I inevitably do. This doesn’t mean I always spoil the creative process by thinking of the reader, but it often works against that instinct to ‘hit publish’ before I’m ready. Embracing experimentation early allows for feedback, boosts confidence, and validates the utility of my writing. Like compost, writing matures over time, eventually becoming the fertile soil from which beautiful things grow.

On Intelligence

Fluid intelligence is your ability to comprehend, reason, and problem-solve. Crystallized intelligence is accumulated knowledge and experiences that you can recall on demand. The latter is refined as you age and at mid-life, this is what I must cultivate. I distill - weaving things together, connecting knowledge, and drawing from life experiences. This article is a perfect example - nothing new here just some old ideas re-packaged up in my way! Enter artificial intelligence and writing takes on a new flavor. I think of ChatGTP like Photoshop. A photo editor can reduce red eye and make colors pop but it cannot polish a turd. Likewise, you can be a wizard AI prompter but if the germ of your idea isn’t up to scratch - no amount of editing will save you.

On Identity

I never set out to, but over the years I have helped several people ‘become’ writers. How? By encouraging them to write daily—remember, writers write, right? Gradually they granted themselves permission to adopt the ‘writer’ moniker. It’s not easy to shift into this ew identity. But if you drink coffee every day you’re a coffee-drinker. And I think the same goes for writing (irrespective of getting published or earning money from it) — if you commit to writing daily, you earn the right to call yourself a writer.

On Preparing

The creative process—prepare, incubate, illuminate, verify—starts by ensuring receptivity to ideas. Chance favors the prepared mind—and this means that I have to appreciate that breakthroughs don’t come instantly. Often the best ideas emerge from the abyss (after months and sometimes years of incubation) and I’m simply the vehicle to transmit them outwards. While ‘preparing’ entails large chunks of time away from the proverbial typewriter, the benefit I reap is that when I sit down, the tapping comes intuitively.

On Reading

Chance also favors the connected mind. You must have good words swirling in your head. Reading is not optional if you want to be a writer. And while I am guilty of Tsundoku— the phenomenon of acquiring books but letting them pile up in my home without reading them— I always have several reads on the go. I ask. “What job is this material here to perform? To enlighten? To entertain? To tame my ego? “ And I recognize that it’s not me finding a book to read, but the book finding me at a particular period of my life.

On Resistance

Steven Pressfield’s first published book came when he was fifty-one years old. He wrestled with resistance—that universal force that has designs to quash our creativity. When the resistance is loud I am not good enough, my writing is crap, and the voice, ‘Who do you think you are!?’ is deafining. The only way to tame the beast, and face the fear is to keep going, to pull up my trousers and plunge into the work. To have any chance of overshadowing the fear and seeing my writing through, I have to show up with grit, courage, and perseverance. Caffeine helps too.

On Rewrites

It’s a fact: you can’t edit a blank page. One trick that I recommend is to ‘accidentally’ delete your first draft as I did with this article. Remember how that would happen to your school essay when Word crashed, again? This forces you to dig into your soul and share what you truly want to say. More often than not the second iteration surpasses the first.