Recently, I got an email about a writing challenge in which I've previously participated. The goal is to write 1000 words each day for a week. In the past, it's been a great way to nudge my productivity forward, so I immediately considered signing up.
Then I started to think about it. Right now, writing is a bit of a struggle. I'm at a point in the semester where planning and grading take up a big enough chunk of my day and my mental energy that, most days, I'm lucky if I get any writing in at all. In addition, I don't have an active project that requires adding words; the project that's supposed to be top-of-list involves editing and revising, for a net loss of words each day.
That said, I'm not making much progress there, either. Editing and revising are my least favorite parts of the writing process, and even more susceptible to being abandoned in a Scarlett O'Hara "I'll think about that tomorrow" fashion.
But the 1000 word challenge had gotten my attention, so clearly I was feeling the need to do something to get things moving. Equally clear was the fact that I had to keep things small if I wanted to achieve success. But before I could set a goal, I had to decide exactly what it was I wanted to achieve.
That was easy: I wanted to put new words on the page. That's the part I find most exciting, and the reason the 1000 word challenge had appealed to me, and the thing I miss the most when it falls by the wayside.
As writers, we can measure output in words, or in time spent actively working (as opposed to time spent sitting at the computer, which can also encompass daydreaming, web-surfing, and asking AI what it thinks, among other things). If words weren't the answer, then maybe time was.
So here it is. My April goal -- the one I'm putting out here to keep myself honest. The one I no sooner created than I started to judge harshly, fearing that it might sound like nothing, that it might, in fact, be too small.
There is nothing useful about that sort of judgment. But, more to the point, there's no rule that says I can't blow a too-small goal out of the water, sailing past it when conditions are right. In fact, that can be preferable to setting a goal that's too big and too far away, especially when the goal-setter is frustrated to begin with.
The goal? Ten minutes. I will write for ten minutes a day every day in April. The only rule? I have to write something new. It can be a blog post, a scene, a response to a writing prompt, a character exploration, a new way of looking at an old project.
Anything that can be defined as a creative pursuit. (In other words, grocery lists and to-do lists don't count). When my ten minutes are up, I can stop.
Or I can keep going.
I figure that the only way to get out of a rut is to forge a new path, and that's what April is about. I might end up with a path to something new, or a messy configuration of scattered bricks. It doesn't matter. The goal is not to finish anything, to polish anything, or to adhere to rules.
The goal is to create. To put words on the page, to put phrases together and see where they lead.
To build a habit.
I'm not holding myself to a schedule. I have from the time I get up until the time I turn out the lights and call it a day to get my ten minutes in, and I can work on anything I want.
Undisciplined? I prefer to look at it as just disciplined enough to let creativity in.
Seven days in, I'm doing well. I had to do a little make-up time one day last week to get caught up when a writing session got interrupted before the ten minutes were up, but otherwise, it's been ten minutes a day.
Or more.
I've written blog posts, responses to prompts, and notes on a new treatment for an old project. I don't know what, if anything, any of it will become, but that's a project for May.
Or later.
Today, my ten minutes turned into 24.
I'm going to take that win.
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