Routine problem

Butt in chair is easier said than done

Georges Croegaert. Drink for every time a writer mentions a big hot mug of coffee in their morning writing ritual

Inspired by a friend who said January was her favorite month of the year because it feels like a fresh start (a novel concept to me, a lifelong New Year’s Eve hater) and my new overpriced cult planner (Hobonichi Techo Cousin), I was looking forward to getting into the swing of things. Book progress every day! Pitching stories again! Newsletter!

I am doing it all, sort of. But it’s very chaotic. Grasping at this and that, irregular hours, anxiety-fueled pedal-to-the-metal sessions. And yes, I realize it’s only been a couple of days, but I also know I did not become a new person with the strike of midnight on Dec. 31 (in fact, I was in the middle of applying for a grant whose deadline was, you guessed it, Jan. 1).

Despite all that fresh January energy, I am still me, and I continue to have no idea how to go about maintaining a writing routine.

A part of the routine problem, to be fair to me, is that I probably have too much work with too many different clients that I have to do in order to have a steady income, and I absolutely suck at creating boundaries, at time management if my deadline is far off in the distance, and specific “you can reach me now” hours (hint hint, writing residency and grant gods!). To be less fair to me, plenty of people write books in addition to their full-time day jobs, or while caring for their children.

So, part of the routine problem for me is money, the most boring, eternal problem in the world, something that nearly all of us struggle with and have struggled for centuries. There’s a reason that screenshot of Ursula Le Guin’s luxurious and charming writing ritual goes viral every now and again. We all want that freedom. I mean, Herman Melville, notoriously broke, wrote to Nathaniel Hawthorne that he couldn’t write because he was “so pulled hither and thither by circumstances.” Hither and tither! All the time!

(And I got a good book deal! I will write about the realities of that sometime soon, stay tuned.)

Ursula Le Guin’s routine. I also tend to be very stupid after 8pm.

I can already hear the typing telling me that Melville wrote the whale book, and that it’s okay, just write whenever, squeeze it in, 15 minutes here and there counts! It does, I know. But, first of all, I do have a deadline. Second of all, I WANT a routine. I don’t WANT to be squeezing the writing and research here and there which leads to all sorts of sidetracking, and then long weekend marathons which leave me tired, and distractible by day two. Plus, I have a feeling the squeezing work here and there may also be better suited for fiction, poetry, essays or memoir, writing that’s a bit more… portable, both physically and mentally? The big ole reported or historical project with 10000 articles, 1000 interviews, and 100 books that need to be consulted is, I find, a bit of a different story.

Above all, I want some decisions to be taken out of my hands, and into the paws of a little rat tugging my metaphorical hair to steer me the right way: pick assignment, sit at desk, write, do not respond to messages or, I dunno, go to the Substack app. (Please don’t tell me to try blocking apps or read Atomic Habits).

I think because I’m unable to figure out my own, I love reading about other people’s writing routines. It’s soothing reading about other people’s lil brain rats. They’re like GRWM’s for nerds. Sometimes they are the mundane and boring “early morning, big hot cup of coffee,” but I love them anyway. The unhinged ones, though, are the best, here courtesy of The Paris Review and

Mason Currey

’s book:

• Susan Sontag sometimes wrote so crazily — on speed — that she didn’t shower, sleep, or change her clothes, having her 10 year-old son lighting cigarette after cigarette for her. Ew ew ew.

• Gay Talese puts on on a full suit to write every morning, cufflinks included. I can’t do that, since I wouldn’t be able to comfortably sit cross-legged in a full suit, a key requirement for writing.

• Joan Didion would retype dozens of pages every day (like, 50 of em!) to get over being scared of the blank page. Since I am not a famous and critically acclaimed genius, I unfortunately, do not have the time for that.

• “When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at four a.m. and work for five to six hours,” Haruki Murakami said. “In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do both), then I read a bit and listen to some music. I go to bed at nine p.m.” Fuck you, Haruki.

Okay okay, as unreasonable and unrealistic for nearly anyone as this is, Haruki does have a point: “I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it’s a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind.” I want that, or at least a tiny bit more of that.

Out of all my reading about famous writers (mostly reporters) the most relatable answer was Janet Malcolm’s:

Interviewer: Do you approach writing in a workmanlike way? Are you are a cabinetmaker making a cabinet, or is there more drama or torment?

Malcolm: I’m definitely more a cabinetmaker than a tormented artist. Not that writing comes easy. I don’t know about cabinetmakers, but I often get stuck. Then I get sleepy and have to lie down. Or I make myself leave the house—walking sometimes produces a solution. The problem is usually one of logic or point of view. I keep regular morning hours. The first hour is the most productive one. The two or three others are less so—they can even be completely fruitless. I sometimes work in the afternoon as well, but the morning is the obligatory work time. As for the “mechanics” of composition, all I can say about them is that the machinery works slowly and erratically and I am ­always a little nervous about it, though by now I’m pretty used to it. I guess I trust it more.

Okay Janet. You’re the GOAT, and I thank you (RIP) for the permission.

So here are my resolutions that I’m hoping will help me with routine building:

• I will attempt to make peace with the fruitlessness, remembering Janet.

• While I refuse to read Atomic Habits, I do like the gentle, reasonable Oliver Burkeman who recommends doing 3-4 hours of deep work a day, not more. I’m not going to shoot for more.

• I’m going to be as strict as I possibly can with protecting my book and reporting work.

• I’m giving myself lil stickers in my lil planner like the lil baby that I am for every day I make book progress.

• And I think, unfortunately, that I must obey the most boring, mundane “early morning, big hot cup of coffee,” timing.

I want MORE longform narrative nonfiction writers’ routines (people writing today, not those of the longhand or typewriter era when the onslaught of distractions was significantly lesser and media industry waaaay plusher). Would love to hear from some of you in the comments! And…drumroll please… starting imminently I’ll be featuring questionnaires with journalists who have written books, asking them all about their writing rituals. So, great news if you’re bored of me talking about my own (or lack thereof)!

PS. Yes, I know the Longform Podcast (RIP).

PS.PS. If you’re interested in how historians do it, I can’t recommend the podcast Drafting The Past enough.