Discipline is the quiet, unglamorous engine beneath the hood of every writer’s life. Inspiration is always fun and welcome, but it’s like lightning: you can’t get it to strike on schedule or make it hit you. A career writer can’t expect to build a solid body of work on flashes of brilliance alone, even if such a thing does happen, as ideas of brilliance don’t always translate into manuscripts of merit. What separates dreamers I’ve met from authors with finished pages is not luck, talent, or inspiration, but rather hard, firm discipline. Discipline is what carries you into the chair on those days when what you’re writing looks more like mud than a pristine pasture. Discipline is what keeps the cursor moving across the screen when no one is around to clap. Discipline, frankly, is how anything gets written: books, poems, short stories, essays, plays, screenplays, and even grocery lists.
There are days when we don’t feel like writing. Every writer has those days. That’s why commitment matters more than mood. The real decision is never, “Do I feel like writing today?” but rather “Will I keep the promise I made to myself, regardless of how I feel?” In other words, are we writers? Or are we emotional snowflakes? I think I’ll take the writer. Every professional writer understands that mood, frankly, is irrelevant. Discipline is the only thing that remains steady, along with the need for money, of course. The magic of consistency is that it seems to make more inspiration appear. I find that by sitting down to write when I don’t want to, inspiration usually peeks around the corner and comes and sits at my desk. In that sense, I guess you don’t wait for inspiration; instead, you invite it by choosing, if necessary, to eat your words alone, whether inspiration shows up or not.
I like to think of discipline as building a mental muscle. At first, when starting any arduous habit, such as writing, the daily repetition can feel heavy. Our brains and bodies want to resist. Well, not really just resist. Sometimes they just want to quit. However, over time, the weight appears to fluctuate. What once felt impossible, uncomfortable, or downright painful becomes second nature. One page suddenly turns into five. One writing session turns into the next day’s writing session. And eventually, somehow, we find the habit of showing up to write each day at our appointed time turns into a manuscript. Discipline, practiced intentionally daily, shifts the task from being a burden to a blessing that has its own rhythm and its own way of life.
Writers who rely only on inspiration often abandon projects halfway through. The beginning is fabulous. The ending is perfect. But all that middle stuff? I think I’d rather wash dishes. These writers have to buy a new computer because the memory in their old one is overwhelmed by the weight of unfinished drafts. But writers who commit to discipline buy computers to house their completed works. They finish, revise, and publish, not because it is always fun, but because that’s what disciplined writers do. Writing every day doesn’t make us robots any more than eating dinner every night. It doesn’t make it mechanical. It doesn’t even really make it a job, or at least it doesn’t feel that way to me. What it does is make the dream sustainable. Discipline is that bridge between that initial spark and your finished book.
Discipline is not about punishment or rigidity. It’s about aligning yourself with your deeper purpose. A disciplined writer says, “I will show up and write for my story, my voice, and my readers.” Disciplined writers always see the readers, or at the very least the red, angry faces of their agent or editor if they fail to deliver on time. These writers begin every session, no matter how small, maybe only fifteen minutes is all you can allow, with a promise that you keep to yourself that you are going to finish this thing. Discipline releases you from the hit-or-miss, the anxiety of inconsistency, and replaces it with the assurance that, no matter how far away it is, the end is in sight. The manuscript or work will be finished. You have no doubt. That is discipline’s reward.
Here’s the paradox. Once you establish discipline, the freedom you crave as a creative person actually expands. You no longer have to wrestle with the guilt of unwritten pages. You no longer wonder if you’ll ever finish or say, as I have said. “Will this project ever end?” You know it will. Discipline releases you from the anxiety of that inconsistency and gives you surety. You create a space of strength rather than fear or even despair.
Some practical things you can do to encourage discipline are to set a minimum floor, not a ceiling. We like to say, “I’m going to write 2,000 words today.” That’s great if you do. A better approach to discipline, though, is to say instead, “I’m going to write a minimum of 200 words” or maybe fifteen minutes. On your best day, you can fly right into those 2,000 words. On your worst? At least you still showed up and hit the minimum.
Another trick is to tie your writing to an anchor. Link your writing to something you already do, like sipping your morning coffee (my trick) or as part of your evening wind-down (which I don’t do because once the ideas start flowing, I can never fall asleep—but night-writing works for many a writer). When writing becomes a natural extension of a habit you already have in your routine, it’s harder to skip it and easy to incorporate.
You can also learn to track streaks, not perfection. So what if you fall short on your word count today? You’ll do better tomorrow. The important thing is you came, put your fingers on the keys, and, even if you sat there, you sat there, by George. Success isn’t about never missing a day, either. It’s about conscientiously returning the next day. Even a missed session isn’t a failure. Don’t beat yourself up for it. Just return the next day. Track your streaks. See how many writing days you can string together. Make it a game. Pretty soon, like Snapchat with my children, you’ll find your streak runs into the thousands.
The last trick I’ll share is always to create accountability. Tell someone you trust what you want to achieve, and let them encourage and support you. Report in to them daily. Make it a celebration or an encouragement that you may not have gotten what you wanted today, but there’s always tomorrow. Check in. Also, join writing groups if extravert input is your thing. Being prepared for your meeting always makes you accountable. You don’t want to be the sorry writer who didn’t prepare. And, if you’re more of an introvert, log your daily progress like sending those Snapchats. Any of these external reminders is going to help reinforce your internal commitment, if your commitment and dreams are truly genuine.
The profound shift when it comes to discipline is this: you stop waiting to be a writer and instead you start acting like one. Daily. The work gets done not because you were inspired that day, but because, even if you were inspired, you had the discipline to sit down at the computer at the time you previously designated. By doing this every day, if the dream is sincere, you will become the writer you always wanted to be and have the career you’ve always wanted.
If you are serious about your career, discipline is non-negotiable. Decide today that you will not leave your writing to the mercy of the Muse, whims, moods, or circumstances. You’re bigger and stronger than that. Plant that writer flag, stake your claim as a writer who honors their work with the courtesy of consistency. Discipline is your covenant with your creative self and your future you. Keep that promise, and your future as a writer will keep its promise back to you.
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