Using your whole writing session

My grandmother, a devout Seventh-day Adventist, has a saying: “Guard the edges of the Sabbath.” She's referring to the tendency of her fellow believers to keep working right up until sundown Friday (and maybe a little after—I mean, it doesn’t really count if you didn’t know the sun was down, right?) and then watch the clock tick slowly toward the official local sunset time on Saturday evening, jumping up and yelling “Party!” the instant the day of rest is over. And although writing is certainly not restful much of the time, treating our writing time like Grandma treats Adventist Sabbath isn’t a bad idea.

When I think of self-defeating habits that I want to clear from my own writing process, guarding the edges of my writing time comes to mind immediately, especially when I think of this week. I’d put “writing time” in my calendar from 3:30 to 5:30, and 3:30 somehow turned into 3:37. So I figured, hey, why not just add seven minutes at the end? But then 5:17 came, and I was already waiting for that alarm to go off. It wasn’t that that writing session was grueling or unproductive or disappointing; it’s just that I knew 5:37 would come and I’d have to move on to the next item on my to-do list.

So I cut off both the Friday and Saturday ends of my writing time, finishing up other things before I let myself write and then yelling “To the dishes!” the second my alarm went off.

Grandma would not be pleased.

But once I realized I was doing this, I decided to change things up. Now, instead of expecting myself to just switch to writing mode the instant I’m “supposed” to, I start five minutes early. I don’t write during that time. Instead, I close all my open tabs and windows—yes, it’s a five-minute task; don’t judge—and make sure I’ve taken notes and updated my planner with any chores that are on my mind. This makes it a lot easier to concentrate on my writing instead of on whatever implied tasks are lurking in the content of those open tabs.

There are other things I’m thinking of incorporating, too. For the first part of my writing time, I can read through my notes and the last part of the chapter I’ve worked on. It’s low pressure and eases me into the work. And for the last part—I’m cringing even as I write this—I’m just going to have to put my alarm on the other side of the room so I can’t keep picking it up and checking the time. It’s like what you do if you keep hitting the snooze button when you wake up: you have to move the clock across the room so you’ll actually get out of bed to turn it off.

And that ringtone I’ve set as my alarm? It’s nice. It’s peaceful. It’s what you’d set your phone to if you’re with your excessively caffeinated friend who’s super jittery and will hit the ceiling if there are any sudden noises. So it eases me from one activity to the next. It isn’t the kind of tone that implies you’re already late (you hearing me on this, jangly-old-fashioned-phone ringtone—or how about you, monotone-alarm-clock-buzz ringtone? Looking at you here).

So this coming week, I’m going to guard the edges of my writing time. Grandma will be proud.