3 ways to break out of feeling stuck

...and an invitation.

Last year I had the brilliant Liane Moriarty – author of Big Little Lies and many other bestsellers – as a guest on the In Writing podcast. Every episode begins with a discussion of the space where the writer does their work, and when Liane described her desk at her home in Sydney, she mentioned that a friend had given her an hourglass. She said:

I think it goes for half an hour, and I often use it if I’m stuck with my writing. The rule is that I just turn it over and say I have to write for that time. It doesn’t matter what I write, and I’m not allowed to go back and edit – I’m not allowed to think about it too much. Often, if I’m stuck, that hourglass gets me going.

The idea stayed with me, because I often get stuck. Sometimes I really have to drag myself to the page, like one of those really lazy dogs that doesn’t want to go for a walk.

Steven Pressfield would say I’m experiencing resistance. It springs up for me when I need to write something I’m nervous about – usually something I haven’t worked out yet, which I’m worried will be mortifyingly bad. It’s just fear, but it dresses up in various attractive outfits, such as laziness; distraction; a strong conviction that I need to check in today with everyone I know; or a worry that I’ve missed a development between Khloe Kardashian and Tristan Thompson.

So, starting with Liane’s suggestion, here are three things that I find helpful in overcoming that resistance. Even if writing always comes to you easily, I think these methods throw up useful insight into how to get yourself to do anything – particularly if you’re putting it off out of fear. Also, at the bottom, I have a suggestion for something we could all do together.

1. Write with a timer

A few weeks after I spoke to Liane, I bought an hourglass.

Mine is by Hay, purchased from KIN, and it goes for half an hour – but I bought it because I like it, not because I really need it. I could use any old timer, or I could go to pomofocus.io and follow the Pomodoro Technique. The idea there is that you spend 25 minutes focusing on one task, and then the buzzer goes and you take a break. Something about limiting the time helps to focus the mind, and the fact that it’s only a short block makes it a lot less daunting.

When George Saunders (who also has a newsletter – the excellent Story Club) came on the podcast¹, he pointed out that small pockets of time can be extremely productive. He said:

If I see a 40-minute block, I’ll just kind of throw a little switch in my head and say, ‘OK, it’s time to be serious – or time to be funny, whatever; sit down and work for that short interval.’ … So one thing I try to do is never discard a day. If the morning starts off in a crazy way and I don’t get to my desk in time, I think when I was younger I’d say, ‘Oh god, the world hates art,’ you know. Now I’m like, ‘OK, but over the course of a life, if you can salvage a 20-minute interval every week, that really adds up.’ So I try to be a little bit gentle with myself in that way.

If you really can’t get going, tell yourself you only have to do it for 15 minutes – but during that 15 minutes, you’re not allowed to do anything else.

2. Join a writing group or workshop

This is something I had to do as part of my MA, but there are tons of writing groups around, and if you know a couple of writers you can easily form one.

The idea is that you meet on a regular basis and share work in progress, then give each other helpful notes. Even if you don’t think you want helpful notes, the sharing itself is essential – because it creates an external pressure. You have to circulate your work by a certain deadline so that everyone has time to read it, and knowing that people will read it gives you a kick up the backside to actually work on it. It’s also good if, like me, you find it harder to let other people down than it is to let yourself down. Get a structure in place where you’re all relying on each other.

3. Do a group writing hour

During Covid-19 lockdown, I discovered the brilliant London Writers’ Salon, which in turn introduced me to the idea of a writing hour.

Every day, they send round a Zoom link; you log on at 8am and wave at dozens of strangers who’ve done the same. Then you work in silence until 8.55, apart but together, and then return to wave goodbye.

The LWS runs four Writers’ Hours a day – at 8am in London, New York, Los Angeles and Wellington. You can be anywhere in the world – you just have to make one of those time slots, and it’s free.

During bad patches of the pandemic, the LWS Writers’ Hour got me out of bed early and gave me a sense of community. It allowed me to make progress on projects that I was finding terrifying, like writing short stories and a screenplay for my MA. I don’t join it regularly at the moment, but I keep it in my back pocket for future tough times.

Why is it such a good idea? Again, I suppose I respond well to structure. The Writers’ Hour feels like an appointment, and so I turn up; it feels like a collaborative effort, and so I don’t let people down. It also gives me a sense of being supported in my work, because I’m alongside others doing the same thing. I suppose in that way, it’s a bit like working in the library.

Since discovering the LWS, I’ve occasionally organised my own writing hours with friends and people from my course; we all found it helpful and productive. And that brings me to a question: would you join a writing hour with me, if I organised one for subscribers? I’m leaving the comments open to everyone on this post – please tell me what you think.

(Also, I don’t have the professional version of Zoom, so if there’s another free platform that would be good for this and allow me to invite lots of people, let me know.)

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Well, that’s all for today. If you’d prefer an audio version of this newsletter, I record one each week for paid subscribers, and you can listen to it through your favourite podcast app. I’ll be back next Thursday – good luck with your writing this week!

1. People often tell me that the George Saunders episode was their favourite – he’s so encouraging and comforting about the writing process. I really loved it too and felt very honoured to talk to him. Here it is.