Sometimes, working on your writing looks like gentle magic: Sitting in stillness, pulling an oracle card and journaling on it, focusing on your mindset and habits of mind.

Sometimes, it looks way more practical: Showing up to a Get Unstuck Session with me to unpack what’s not working in your writing practice so we can fix it. There’s a lot of magic in those conversations, but the vibes are much more nuts-and-bolts.

I am a writing alchemist. I am also a practice plumber.

We are going to unclog your creative pipes and straighten out whatever wonky system has led to this tangle in the first place. That’s magic in and of itself (as anyone who’s ever had a serious plumbing issue can tell you! Ask me how I know!).

But we’re also going to plumb in the sense of going deep. We’re going to explore the murky depths of your writing practice, bringing all sorts of hidden assumptions up to the light.

We can start now.

Your writing practice is all about how you show up to the page, write in a way that works for you, and identify the conditions under which your unique creative magic can flow.

Writers often assume that a successful writing practice is all about discipline: just write every day, bam, done. There’s a lot of “should” involved (and I’m not going to say that’s what’s clogging up your creative pipes, but…I’m not not saying that, either).

We're walk through my system for building a flexible, adaptable, downright magical writing practice—one that you like, that supports your creativity, and that is responsive to your life as it currently exists.

The first step is identifying what you would like.

When Charlotte* showed up to coaching, she hadn’t touched her manuscript in months. She works full-time and has kids, and writing was taking a back seat to everything else. (*For privacy purposes, Charlotte is a composite coaching client.)

Anytime Charlotte talked about her book, she lit up. I could feel the energy of the story coiled up inside her, ready to burst out onto the page. When she talked about her writing practice, that light dimmed.

Finally, I asked, “What would you like your practice to look like?”

She launched into the shoulds. She knew she should be writing every day, but that wasn’t doable between her work schedule and the kids’ activities. She should be able to write three or four days out of the week, but she felt so much pressure to make the most of her time that she procrastinated with other, easier tasks.

I had to pump the brakes and remind her that I didn’t ask what she thought she should be doing.

I asked her what she would like.

I want to ask you the same question. A bunch of variations of it, actually, so I put together an audio lesson for this part of the process. You can click the button below to give it a listen.

Take me to the audio lesson!

If working through these questions in writing is easier, keep reading!

Before you dive in, I want to point out three things that might happen and how to respond.

Like Charlotte, you might jump straight into should rather than like. That’s okay! Just notice it. Return to the question: What would you like? We’ll get back to the practical bits later.

You might slide into a fantasy world that resembles your own in zero ways. That’s okay, too! You can get useful information from fantasy—but think about what you’d like in your life as it is now.

You might not arrive at any clear answers at all. That is also okay! Give it your best shot—what might you like? Think about the last time you got into a flow state; you’ll find some clues there!

We’re going to test all these answers anyway. Like good writing alchemists, at this point we’re just gathering components. They’ll go into the crucible for refinement later on.

So, for the first phase of this process, answer the following questions. You can be as brief or as detailed as you want.

• Where would you like to write?
• When would you like to write?
• What tools would you like to write with?
• How often would you like to write?
• How long would you like to write?

By the time Charlotte and I finished walking through this process, she had a much clearer sense of why her writing practice felt so bad—she didn’t like it! Of course it wasn’t working!

Armed with information about what she did like, Charlotte was able to make changes that brought a sense of joy, ease, and flow back into her practice.

The second step of this process is identifying what you need to be able to write.

I break writing-related needs into three categories:

• Physical Space
• Bodily Supports
• Social Interaction

Under the Physical Space category, you can think about lighting, noise level, scents, seating, temperature, decor, and other environmental factors.

Do you do your best writing in a quiet library or a bustling coffee shop? Can you write at home, or do you need to get away from the never-ending to-do list to have any chance at focus?

Bodily Supports are the accommodations and creature comforts that make our writing practice into a creative sanctuary—a place we’re eager to enter, because we know it’s going to feel good to be there.

If background noise wrecks your focus, could a pair of noise-canceling headphones be part of your toolkit? Do you need a totally clear desk to work, or do you want to be surrounded by bits of paper, inspirational art, and fidget toys?

Writing is a team sport, contrary to popular belief. You’ll be the one writing all the words in your book—but you don’t have to isolate yourself to do it. Bringing other people on board can enhance your practice enormously.

If you have kiddos, could you trade childcare or set up playdates with a friend so you can both work on creative projects? Could a coach or accountability buddy help keep you on track?

Step three of this process ropes us back into reality—this is where you make a plan.

Now is when you take what you like and what you need and think about how those things fit into your schedule. I invite you to whip out a calendar and look at the next month (or, if that feels overwhelming, the next week).

Start with when—when would you like to write? How often is that time free in your calendar? If the answer is “rarely” or “never,” you have three options: Remove things from your schedule, move commitments around, or compromise on when you will write.

Next, think about where—where would you like to write? How often can you get to that spot?

Keep moving through the things you like and need and comparing them to your actual schedule. The stars aren’t going to align 100% of all the time—and that is fine.

The point of this exercise is to think critically about your schedule and what you’re willing and able to do to build a practice you will like.

Be honest with yourself about what can shift and what can’t. Make decisions about how you want to use your time.

There are two don’ts for this part of the process:

• Don’t plan more than a month in advance. Life is going to life! Somebody’s going to get sick. The holidays are coming. It feels way worse to disrupt a rigid, inflexible, three-month plan than to tweak your schedule for a few weeks.
• Don’t overload your schedule with new writing time. Cramming every spare second with a new writing should leads to one thing: burnout.

You do not have to achieve everything you like or meet every single need all at once—but if you start building on that foundation, your writing practice is going to feel (and work) better.

The final phase of this process? Test and iterate.

On Monday, we talked about alchemists and personal gnosis. This is where you start building yours.

Few things are more magical than knowing yourself, knowing what works for you, and being able to speak and act from that knowledge.

The first two phases are largely intuitive—they’re grounded in your past experience. Your embodied awareness informs your answers to questions about what you like and need.

This last phase is where you’ll put that intuitive information through its paces, test your assumptions, and reflect on the results.

At this stage, you’ve designed a writing practice for the next week or month. Now, go do it! Follow the outline you’ve set up for yourself.

At the end of that process, set aside some time for reflection. What worked? What didn’t? What felt good? What felt off?

• If everything seemed to work pretty well, great! Plan out the next week or month, and reflect again when you get to the next check-in point.
• If things didn’t work so well, great! You got new information—now you can act on it. Repeat the cycle, replacing things that didn’t work with a new element to test. Rinse and repeat.

Building a writing practice is not a one-and-done event or a prescriptive declaration that fits all writers and all lives.

Your writing practice is a conversation between you, your book, and your lived reality. The conversation will change over time.

Armed with the personal gnosis you build through this process, your reaction to change doesn’t have to be one of frustration. Instead, it gets to be one of exploration and experimentation.

And the end result?

You write.

That story that’s been bottled up inside you gets to emerge on the page. You get to write in a way that feels supportive, sustainable, and fun.

What could be more magical than that?