Wordy Wednesday: Tomorrow

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is a writing process post. About, err, not writing.

Another short post today, because it’s after 11:00 PM and I ended up getting exactly zero writing done on NaNo, for the third day in a row. 

I had a paper due this evening that shouldn’t have been a big deal to write (it was only supposed to be like three pages), but I ended up spending the entire day on it because, you know, day before Thanksgiving and all. But I did manage to get it done and in on time, so I’m now officially on break, thank God. Hopefully I’ll be finally have a little time to write now. 
This evening my family wanted to do stuff together, so I made dinner (pasta with homemade sauce and fresh mozzarella, garlic bread, and fried red-skin potatoes) and now we’re watching Flight. (By the way, if you haven’t seen it, much more depressing than expected. Happy holidays.)

My mom has promised me a couple hours to spend on NaNo in the morning, before Thanksgiving stuff starts, so hopefully I’ll be able to get back to catching up then. 

Tonight: I’m finishing this movie and going to bed. 

In the morning: Writing Warrior Mode activates.

Goal for Today: 1,000 + 3,000 (from Monday)Overall Goal: 40,000

Current Word Count: 37,027


NaNo Day 5: Sleepless in Ann Arbor

Strap yourself in: this is gonna be a long one.

After being hecka sleepy in my film screenings again last night, my plan for the evening was to come home and go straight to bed. However, my NaNo schedule called for 2,000 words and I’d only written about 800 so far.

More than I wanted sleep, I didn’t want to get even further behind than I already was, so I decided to tough it out and try to get in the rest of my 2k. (Like seriously. This falling behind thing has been getting crazy.) So, I burrowed under my covers with my laptop and headphones and opened my Word doc–

–Only to realize that, once again, the story wasn’t working.

Here’s the thing: This is my eighth year doing NaNoWriMo. I know that the way to fast draft a manuscript is to throw quality out the window and just get words on the page. I’ve won seven NaNos that way; I’ve completed five manuscripts.

But that only works when the plot and characters are going in the right direction.

I’m a pantser, which means I never really know where the story’s going. Despite this, I can almost always tell when I’m writing something inauthentic (like maybe a character does something that s/he would not realistically do, or something else along those lines). Once you reach a certain point in the story, it’s better just to write through these issues. After all, your worst writing is still better than no writing at all, and you can always go back and fix problems in revisions.

I know this. I’ve done this. In the first draft of one of my previous manuscripts, my killing-averse heroine lost control at the climax and shot like a billion bad guys. I knew as I was writing it that that is not how that scene should ever unfold. But I also knew that I needed to write through the crappy, wrong version of events in order to be able to finish the MS and thus then be able to go back and rewrite it as it actually was supposed to be.

However, that kind of logic doesn’t really work when you’re still at the beginning of the novel. When I opened my Word doc last night, I was just under 4,000 words into the MS. I hadn’t even reached the inciting incident yet. (I’d only just passed the catalyst.) Purposely doing something wrong at that point is like purposely building your entire house on a broken foundation.

I’ve been struggling a lot with this MS. As I mentioned a couple days ago, I’ve restarted this novel maaany times now. If we’re being honest, Time Travel Heist Story is me reattempting my NaNo from two years ago with lots of changes, because what I tried two years ago did not work At All but I liked the general concept behind the time travel in that one. (I’ve also stolen the scavenger hunt element from lat year’s NaNo.) (Basically I am really bad at coming up with new ideas these days.)

The point of all this is: I’ve been struggling. And when I opened that Word doc last night, it was with the knowledge that I would probably have to start over again if I wanted this MS to go anywhere. And after how many failed attempts I’ve made at telling this story, I wanted desperately for something to work.

I did like the first couple pages of this version, so I decided not to entirely start over from scratch. I’d just tweak those pages, delete the rest, and rewrite from there. I just needed to get this opening right if I ever wanted to be able to move on. Then maybe I could stop doing this constant restarting.

So I started tweaking. And reworking. And adding.

And as I went, I slowly realized that this time–well, I was wrong about needing to rewrite. The pages I was so worried about, that I thought needed to go? They just needed some more fleshing out. Some clarification. Some work on character development and dialogue.

And, more than anything, they needed me to trust myself and the story I’m telling.

There’s nothing wrong with starting over if you need to. It happens. In fact, it’s kind of my M.O. (Throwback to Camp NaNoWriMo way back in the yesteryear of 2012.) But I’d begun to fall back on it as a crutch, out of fear and anxiety, and that is the opposite of good.

I ended up adding all of the words I needed last night just in reworking. Then I was so swept up in the story, I kept writing. And I had to force myself to shut down my laptop after 1:00 AM. Then I lay in bed–unable to sleep, my brain was whirring so much, so high off of writing–that it was close to three before I finally drifted off.

And I’ve been thinking about the story all day, in all my classes and all through work. All I’ve wanted to do is come home and write. And even though I’m exhausted, I’d gladly stay up all night just to work on this thing.

I haven’t felt that way about a manuscript in a long, long time. And I know I currently feel that way about this one because I took a step back and reevaluated what I was doing before making the mistake of hitting delete.

So, the point of all this rambling: It’s okay to backtrack if you need to. But only do it if you really, actually NEED to.

Sometimes, if you’re lost, it’s not about starting over. It’s about finding yourself in what you’ve already written.

Goal for Today: 2,000 + 2,500 (from Sunday)

Overall Goal: 10,000

Current Word Count: 5,781

I’m off to do today’s writing. Maybe I’ll even catch up someday soon?

How are you doing? If you’ve been struggling with NaNo so far, are you maybe also finally getting into the swing of things? (Either way: Look at you, you magical writing person! Whether you’ve written one word or a hundred thousand at this point in the month, you are amazing simply for taking the effort to write at all. We’ve got this.)


NaNo Day 1: And So It Begins


Goodness, can you believe it’s already November 1st? As much as I love this month, it’s crazy how fast the year goes.

I’m absolutely terrified for how I’m going to handle everything this November. Senior year is kicking my butt at the moment, and add writing fifty thousand words and blogging every day on top of that? This is going to be interesting. (But also, like, what else is new, amiright? #College)

My NaNo this year is currently The Novel that Refuses to Be Named, also known as Time Travel Heist Story. I’ve been working on it since July-ish, but I realized a couple weeks ago that I need to start at a different place in the plot–so despite my best efforts to be productive with writing the past few months, I, once again, am beginning NaNoWriMo at Chapter One. (Yay accidentally playing by the rules?)

What this does mean is that I have a vague idea of what I want my characters and plot to look like, which goes against every instinct in my little pantser heart, but also means writing should HOPEFULLY be a little easier (and less time-consuming) this time ’round. Which also means hopefully I won’t die between now and November 30th.

Description from my NaNo profile:

Fifteen-year-old Regina is a sophomore at the prestigious Zeteo Academy, acclaimed for sending graduates everywhere from the White House to the moon. Zeteo breeds loyalty, bravery, and the ability to keep a secret–but the biggest secret is the boarding school’s unorthodox education itself, involving a dangerous, seemingly endless scavenger hunt. Called simply “the Game,” the scavenger hunt sends students around the world to gather clues leading to a prize so old even the rumors surrounding it have died.

When the rules of the Game change for the first time since its founding over a century ago–and, in the process, Regina becomes the first Zeteo student ever to come face to face with a game-runner–she decides it’s time the students of the Zeteo Academy finally figured out the truth about the Game that rules their lives.

Oh, and P.S. there’s time travel.

So yeah. This is going to be a veeery rough first draft (how does one even write time travel?), but I’m also in love with the plot and the world, so I can’t wait to dig in.

Are you competing in NaNoWriMo this year? If so, what are you writing about? (Also: wanna be buddies?)

Goal for Today: 5,000

Current Word Count: 271

Whoohoo! Let’s do this thang.


Oh, and P.S. Happy Day After Halloween from Hermione and Harry!

A Very Potter Halloween

Wordy Wednesday: Want

I’m writing this blog post Tuesday night, because I have a midterm tomorrow morning and a paper due in the afternoon and, like, procrastination whoohoo.

This weekend was fall break! A couple friends and I decided to staycation this year, so we went to the big U of M/MSU football game Saturday (which was exciting but also, you know, horrifying), hit a cider mill Sunday, went hiking and had a bonfire Monday night, and today (Tuesday) saw Crimson Peak. (I don’t do horror movies, but Guillermo del Toro is king and this one honestly isn’t that scary, so yeah.)

Like look how freaking pretty Ann Arbor is, though.

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is poem. And because I have the paper I’m supposed to be writing about The Great Gatsby on my mind, here’s a piece inspired by it. (That I definitely didn’t write this afternoon while neglecting said paper.) (And I’m definitely not mining for part of my conclusion nooope.)


Life is a story of want;
desperate, contagious
inescapable, insurmountable

Want that feels like need

Want that crushes your heart
in its fist

Want that makes you bleed—
that makes you want to bleed yourself dry
just to satiate it

Want that you will never
be able to

It’s the kind of want that,
despite knowing what it is,
what it means—
you would never let it go
even if you could

It hurts like everything
you’ve ever wanted to feel
at once,
on your chest

Push on,
I’ll push on,
just a little further

Take everything
but give me that
in exchange


Thanks for reading!



Wordy Wednesday: Terrified of Time

It’s been a long week. (Overall a good one. But yeah. It’s been looong.)

This weekend was homecoming, and whereas that’s normally not that big of a deal here (at least for someone not into sports or partying), it was a HUGE one this year, because it was also a big year for anniversaries: 100th year of the School of Music, Theatre, and Dance. 150th year of Michigan Athletics. And, of course, other anniversaries I’m forgetting because, let’s be honest, those are the only two I care about.

In honor of the School of Music, Theatre, and Dance anniversary, the college hosted a ton of huge events throughout the weekend. Including A Very Starkid Reunion Thursday night, a concert featuring over thirty members of Team Starkid. It was fun and exciting and also maybe made my entire row cry, especially when Darren Criss changed the lyrics of “Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts” to being about U of M at the end because WHY ARE WE SENIORS WHY.

Then, Saturday involved lots of spiritwear and tailgating, followed by (guess what) a football game. At the game, the student section made the largest human roller coaster ever. Also, the New York philharmonic played at halftime with our marching band, which was cool. And then, you know, WE WON.

And, finally, on Sunday I had a choir lock-in, as part of which we had a full-on Pitch Perfect-style sing-off between the sections, and SOPRANOS TOTALLY KICKED SOME BUTT.

Aaand those are just a few of the fun things that happened this weekend. Because way too much happened to cover it all. And as much as I enjoyed it all, I am now so, so tired and it needs to be fall break like yesterday.

In other news, what this post is actually supposed to be about: This week’s Wordy Wednesday is a poem.


I’m terrified
of where I’ll be
twenty years from now
when this is history

I’m slipping between
the threads of time;
how is it that control
is no longer mine?

I’m trying to hold on
but I’m not that strong,
and I’m trying to hold on
but time flows on and on

Tell me: is this the end?
Tell me: is this pretend?
Tell me: will I wake up tomorrow,
five years old again?

Tell me how I got here,
how I forgot to count the days.
Last I looked, I had forever;
now the future is yesterday

And I’m terrified of time
I’m terrified of time


And on that happy note: Thanks for reading!


Wordy Wednesday: Bell Tower Stairs

Hey there! How’s your week going?

Midterms are starting up at U of M, which means campus has basically turned into the set of a zombie B-movie. On the upside, I got to escape the madness for a few days by spending the weekend scouting venues for Ch1Con in Chicago with some awesome people.

Other than that, I’ve spent the past week just doing my best not to drown under homework. Oh, and my family saw The Martian Sunday night! I liked the book better, but it’s a solid movie. Definitely go see it, if you haven’t already.

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is a poem.


Climbing the stairs
to the eighth floor of the
university bell tower for
choir rehearsal
seemed like a good idea
on the first floor

But one floor up and
the air was gone and
three floors up and
the blood was rushing too fast
and five floors up and
our legs burned with acid and
seven floors up and our legs were numb

And the stairs spiraled on and on,
an endless loop of labored breathing,
gripping the banister too tight,
afraid of both looking up and
looking down

But eight floors up and
there was a door
and chairs,
and laughter from the group:
“We made it!”
And more than anything else
there was a window,
just a little thing high on the wall,
overlooking the sweeping, endless
green and orange quilt of trees that
gave this city its name

And look what we did,
look what we did;
together we climbed a mountain


Thanks for reading!


Wordy Wednesday: Edge of the World

It’s the first day of spring term! A tiny part of me would have liked to have gotten more than five seconds of summer vacation, but at the same time, I’m taking screenwriting. So, like, spring term is going to be a lot of hard work, but also SO MUCH FUN.

Also, in the last couple days I found out I got a 4.0 last semester (and my overall GPA is back up into a not-terrible position, thank God) and that I got accepted to a special humanities-based committee on campus that’s starting in the fall and sounds amazing. So I’m having a pretty solid week so far.

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is a song I wrote a couple months ago.

[Capo 3]
VERSE1 [C, G, Em, C]
How did we get here,
at the end of the line?
Did we turn the map wrong?
Did we misread the signs?

And where do we go from here,
when I can’t turn around?
I’m a bird afraid of flying.
No, I’m afraid of hitting the ground.

And I don’t know
where to go-oh-oh-oh-oh
from here,
from here

CHORUS [C, G, Em, D]
Tell me, where is this leading?
I need to know how we’re proceeding.
Left, right, straight ahead—
Will the sun rise on us as good as dead?

Tell me, should I keep believing,
Evening when time keeps leaving?
Up, down, crash into the ground—
Will our screams on the edge make a sound?

Falling off the edge of the world.
Falling off the edge of the world.

VERSE2 [C, G, Em, C]
How did it come to this,
after all that we’ve been through?
Could we have tried harder?
Were we destined to lose?

And how do we move on from here,
when everything’s a fall?
I’m so afraid of dying.
No, I’m afraid of not living at all.

All I know
is the lights glow-oh-oh
even here,
even here

[Repeat CHORUS]

BRIDGE [C, G, Em, D]
Everything is about movement,
but they try to lock you out of it,
and I am just so sick of this—
leaving on a plane, train,
no time to explain

[Repeat CHORUS]

ENDING [C, G, Em, D]
Falling off the edge of the world.
Falling off the edge of the world.


Thanks for reading!


Scheduling Is Hard

I schedule for fall semester of senior year on Monday.

Besides the fact that that’s absolutely crazy (HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE A SENIOR ALREADY?), it’s also, well, crazy. Because there are approximately a thousand more classes I want to take than I ever would be able to.

Probably the worst part of this whole scheduling thing is that it keeps reminding me how I’m not sure what to do for the next couple years of my life. For one thing, there are enough film classes I want to take that I might as well add a film major. But do I want to work in the film industry, and would it really be smart to spend the the time and money necessary to get a film major (at least one extra semester of classes) if I’m not planning on it?

Then there’s grad school. I’m looking at getting a masters in a few different things. Creative writing, or literature, or film studies/criticism. But do I really want a masters? Do I really want a masters in one of those things? What kind of masters program would I want to complete? I DO NOT KNOW.

Then there’s also the possibility of trying to get a job straight out of college, and what job would I even go for? I know that I more than likely want to work in publishing (I mean, that’s been the plan for years now and I do adore the publishing industry), but at this point I’m not positive what I want to do in publishing. Work for a publishing house or literary agency? Work in editing or marketing or something else? Move to New York or try my luck elsewhere? (Once again I say: SOMEONE GIVE ME AN INTERNSHIP. I need help figuring these things out.)

And the decision of which classes to take senior year is going to influence what I can do after college. And that’s terrifying.

All of this is terrifying.

I know whatever path I take from here isn’t the only one I’m ever allowed to take. If I’m lucky enough to live until I’m all old and grey, life will be a long haul. I can do many things if I want. But still. I’m scared for the next few years.

Anyway, all this to say: Scheduling is hard, and I know a lot of my friends are just as freaked out about what to do after college as I am, and fingers crossed that everything works out for us and everyone else in similar positions.

Are you dealing with any scary existential crises too? Want to commiserate together?


Wordy Wednesday: This Is a Love Story

Okay, so I’m writing this Tuesday night because over the course of the next two days I have a short story, film review, and midterm paper all due and I haven’t begun any of them yet. And, you know, who doesn’t love to procrastinate.

The reason I haven’t begun anything yet is because I spent my entire weekend sleeping and reading and watching movies/the Oscars, because I am SO FREAKING TIRED and it needs to be spring break. But here we go: Survive these next two days, and I get a whole week off from school.

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is a short story I wrote for class, fall semester 2013. It was one of the weaker stories of the semester, but I still think it’s cute, so figured it was worth the share.


We were stumped. The entire 100-level Classic Literature class just stared at Professor Robinson while the question hung in the dry classroom air: Had she really just asked us to rewrite Romeo and Juliet minus the dying part? Or Pride and Prejudice without Mr. Darcy being a total d-bag for ninety percent of the book? Or The Notebook sans shirtless Ryan Gosling?
“Come on, people,” Professor Robinson said. “It’s not that hard. Which part of the love story is the most important? How do you know which is which? How can you tell what part is the most significant until long after the entire thing is over, the lovers dead and gone and no longer important to anyone at all? Which parts aren’t necessary to weave a good tale? A writer can’t talk about literally every moment in a relationship, so how do they decide which ones to catalogue and describe? How do you tell a love story?”
I leaned forward with my chin propped on my fist and watched the girl in front of me take duck-face pictures on her webcam. The boy beside me had fallen asleep about five minutes before, and was snoring to the tune of what I assume was Star Wars. The girl on the other side of him was in an intense staring contest with the clock above the white board.
“Renee?” Professor Robinson’s tone was hopeful.
I jumped and shook my head. “Sorry, Professor. This time I’ve got nothing.”
She sighed. “Fine. Anyone else?” She glanced at the clock. We still had another twenty minutes, but the loudest noise in the room was the Star Wars theme a la Nose Whistle, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and said the two words every college student lives to hear: “Class dismissed.”

That was three days ago. Since then it has rained twice, and the sun has set and risen three times, and I have sat just as quietly as I did in that classroom, only in the front passenger seat of my mom’s minivan as we battled traffic all the way back to the little town of Miller, Wisconsin, because I promised Trish before I left for Northwestern that I would come home for the Homecoming game no matter what, even though coming home for Homecoming means coming home to all the problems I left behind.
And all this time I’ve thought about Professor Robinson’s question of what makes a good love story, but I haven’t been able to come up with a single idea. Until this very instant. The instant that I’m thinking all of this.
Because in this instant, someone is tapping me on the shoulder while I wait in the concession line at the Miller High School Homecoming game, and I’m turning around with my heart already in my throat, and Max Barton is standing behind me with one arm outstretched, the other tucked in the pocket of his faded Miller High Matterhorns hoodie, and a smile stretched across his lips. His brown eyes light up like I don’t have dog hair on my skirt or mascara smudged above my left cheek. He is exactly as tall as I remember—five foot eleven, the perfect height for me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
Professor Robinson, I promise I will write this down when I get home, because I can answer your question: A love story is a touch.
A love story is a name.
“Hey.” I can’t get enough of the crisp September air in my lungs, and my sweater is both too heavy and not warm enough, and I haven’t seen Max Barton in months, but suddenly he is standing right behind me. “Long time no see.”
His smile broadens and he runs a hand back through his straight chocolate brown hair. “How are you? How’s Northwestern?” He has the voice of an old-time movie star, deep and lilting. The stadium lights make the freckles spread across his nose and cheeks stand out from the rest of his skin like one of the constellations just popping into existence above us as the sun sets over the parking lot.
“I’m good. It’s good.” I force a shrug. “How are you, Max? How’s the University of Wisconsin?”
He copies my movement. “It’s nice. It’s also nice to be home for the weekend, though. I missed everybody.” He takes in my rumpled sweater and frizzy chestnut ponytail; the scuffs across the toe of my right combat boot.
When I’m nervous, I dig my right foot into the ground. I’m doing it right now.
“You look beautiful, Renee.”
The temperature in my cheeks rises by a hundred degrees. I cross my arms and stare down at the trampled yellow grass, then swing my toe into the mangled strands again and watch as some of them break free. I close my eyes.
The truth about love stories is that you aren’t telling the reader about the relationship in general. You’re telling them about a specific moment that defines not just the relationship, but the characters themselves. Like a children’s book, a love story teaches a lesson. And maybe that lesson is Kissing Is Great rather than Stealing Is Wrong, but it’s still a lesson well-learned.
So I could tell you about the day I met Max Barton, when we were in the ninth grade and I was new to Miller and he said I could eat lunch at his table even though I’d just met him five minutes before at the end of fourth period geometry; I could tell you about a hundred dates, and all the times his fingers curled around mine on the walk home from track practice, and how I was never cold as long as his arm was around my shoulders. I could tell you about our first kiss, and our last, and all the jokes and fights and stories in between.
But instead I will tell you about right now. This moment. When my cheeks are burning up while my sweater is too cold, and Max tells me I look beautiful even though I don’t, and he smiles down at me with his freckles and hair and eyes all exactly as I remember. And I simply step away, say, “Thank you,” and turn to the concession stand to place my order.
Because if all love stories have one thing in common, it’s this: They end. And the love story of Max Barton and Renee Smith is already long gone.
I slide a five dollar bill across the counter to the booster parent scooping my popcorn, and accept the overstuffed bag she hands me with a grin. I slip the wallet back into my purse and tell her to keep the change.
“Have a nice evening, sweetie.”
I nod. “Thanks. You too.”
I wave at Max as I walk back to my seat beside Trish in the stands, but I don’t let my eyes linger on the way his hands are shoved haphazardly into his hoodie pocket or the breeze makes his hair dance across his forehead like a modern day Clark Kent’s. I don’t pay attention to the sound of his deep, lilting goodbye or the half a second his stare catches on my figure or the way his eyes slide so easily away from my retreating form as he approaches the concession stand himself.
I don’t pay attention to the fact that this moment is not a love story, but just an echo of one already told, no longer important to anything but my memories.
I squeeze onto the bench beside Trish and offer her my popcorn.
She raises her eyebrows, but takes a handful anyway. “Was that Max?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay.” I shrug and turn to watch the game. “We’re okay.”
“Good.” She nudges me with her shoulder, and I nudge her back. Out the corner of my eye, I see her grin. She grabs another handful of popcorn. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Me too.”
A love story is a lesson, and the lesson of my story is this: Not all love stories are between two people. Sometimes they’re between your past and your future, trying to figure out the present. Sometimes a love story is about yourself.
It’s deciding whether or not to move on—whether or not it’s okay to be happy again after something crappy has happened; after someone has broken your heart.
A love story is told through the moments that matter. And in mine, this is the one that does: Seeing Max Barton again, and wanting nothing more than to ride off into the sunset without him. Seeing Max Barton again, and loving myself enough not to love him.


Thanks for reading!


Wordy Wednesday: Balancing College and Writing

Things going on right now:

1.) Ch1Con activities will be starting back up again in the next couple weeks, so watch that blog (here) for info on live chats, writing sprints, etc. Also keep a lookout for conference-related announcements! Registration and the speaker list should be going live really, really soon.

2.) My first post is up on Teens Can Write, Too! I talk about why critique partners are awesome. Check it out here.

3.) The bot chose the winners for my third blogiversary giveaway and I’ve been in contact with all of them. Congrats if you won, and thanks anyway if you didn’t! I wish I could give a book to everyone who entered.

Classes started today and while I’m nervous about being able to handle everything I need/want to do this semester, it’s also really nice to start getting back into a rhythm. I work best when I’ve got a routine and deadlines, sooo. Yay school, I guess?

The biggest thing is about finding a balance between all the different things I’m doing. So, for this week’s Wordy Wednesday: some of the ways I do that.


Keep Several Types of Schedules

I personally use a planner to keep up with my day-to-day activities, especially homework and events I’ve scheduled with friends. But I also usually have a weekly to do list on my computer, a day-to-day to do list on a white board on my wall, and if I’m in the middle of a writing project, I’ll have a separate schedule written out for handling that as well.

The more detailed my schedules are, the more easily I can stay on task and keep up with everything I need to do.

Dedicate Time to Writing–And Dedicate Time to Not Writing

This is one I have trouble with a lot, but basically what it boils down to is this: It’s not healthy to write for long stretches without breaks. (And I’m talking mentally, not what sitting around all day on your laptop does to your poor defenseless abs.) So even when it feels like you don’t have time to get everything done that you need to, it’s important to take time away from working to hang out with friends or catch up on your favorite TV show or whatever.

HOWEVER, it’s also important to take time to write. A lot of people don’t see writing as a real job, but we need to treat it that way if we want to get anywhere. Set aside time to write each week and don’t let people take that time from you.

Don’t Write During Class

It can be really tempting to write during class, especially in those really boring three-hundred-person lecture hall gen ed classes, but DO NOT GIVE IN. By writing during class, you miss what the professor’s saying, then end up having to take more time later to look up and learn that info on your own. So what little time you save by writing during class, you lose two fold later on.

Instead: Pay attention in class. Don’t procrastinate on your homework. Then reap the benefits of all the free time you suddenly have.

Be Flexible

You can plan and schedule and work ahead all you want. Things will still get in the way sometimes.

Be flexible. Write in the little moments. Stay in to work instead of going out with friends sometimes (but also still go out with friends sometimes). Take a break from doing homework by writing and take a break from writing by doing homework.

And more than anything: Do what feels right for you. Sometimes it’s going to be hard to fit writing in with school, but if you want it badly enough, you can do it.


Thanks for reading!

Are you back in classes this week? How’s that going? (Please tell me it’s warmer where you are.)