May seem obvious but you need a space to create. I’m not talking about a writer’s loft overlooking dark, rainy city streets with a rolltop desk, a state-of-the-art computer, and a printer where you can hibernate for days. I know a woman who wrote at a tray table in the basement next to the washer/dryer because for an hour no one would interrupt Mom for fear of getting pulled into helping and there was always a load of laundry to do at her house. I started writing in spiral notebooks lying on my bed. I now write with Spotify blasting in a recliner with my computer on my lap. Just find a space that works for you where you won’t be overly distracted by barking dogs, family needing assistance, or anything trying to pull you away from your job of creating.

            And commit. This is not playtime. It is fun (for me at least) but if it is writing time, it is time to write. Write something. I will give you ideas later if you feel the plot has become a wet rope you’re trying to push up a hill. Just write. Not emails. Not bills. If all else fails, set yourself up a blog about your writing. Nothing like an audience waiting for your words to give you incentive to write. (Commercial break-I’m not paid to write this, but I recommend createandgo.com for an outstanding, free tutorial on how to setup a cheap blog. Intimidated? Okay. I can help you make a blog. Go to my blog for details: writingyoubook.net].

            One day during a game I was playing while drinking my breakfast (protein shake, not what you might have been thinking), a commercial came on. I got tickled and broke away from my game for a writing exercise. See. I do homework, too. It has nothing to do with any plot I’m planning – yet. This is what I concocted:

I got the door to close despite the broken hinges. It was more of an effort than it would have been a few days ago. Needed food, rest. Maybe there was a scrap to eat in this convenience mart. Bear bait had kept up and made it in behind me. You know the joke. How fast do you need to run to escape a bear? Faster than the next guy. She was my next guy. Yeah, I know, heartless. You get denied shelter to face the zombies and see who you put first. Then we’ll chat.

Seen her as I escaped a herd of four of the creeping zombies. I wasn’t waiting on her candy red high heels, but she’d managed to follow me. In the dim light coming in the store where someone had tried to board up the front windows, I saw fancy nail polish and face makeup. Both had suffered as much as her brown hair in its flowing, curling length.

I shook my head, leaving her as I searched for food. Lot of car stuff. Hadn’t been gas in at least a week. Certainly didn’t need oil and wiper blades. I stuffed the pain killers, other meds, and bandaids into my backpack. Never know. The only canned goods were stomped into the linoleum floor, just dried juice remaining. Wasn’t quite desperate enough to lick that up but I supposed it was heading that way. Organized groups had gathered everything they could find and weren’t taking anyone new in. Guess they assumed the rest of us were bear bait.

I had a plan. Get out of town. Find somewhere in the mountains. Live off the land. Had a survival book from the library in my backpack. Just hadn’t found enough supplies to get me there yet and it had become just living til tomorrow. Still was a goal though.

Ah, ha. I got on my knees and dug under an overturned display case. Heaven met my questing fingers in the form of an open tube of powdered donuts. I shoved one in my mouth, ignoring the green tinge of mold. Hearing noise behind me, I looked up ready to defend my prize.

Cheesus. She’d dropped the oversized brown raincoat but now stood in a freaking bright blue string bikini. One positive was that she was taking a final cut at her hair with a pair of scissors that still had a price tag swinging from the handle. Her hair was now uneven but short and utilitarian, my idea of survival chic. She’d found the front display of winter wear and had kicked her high heels for a pair of black rain-snow boots.

I narrowed my eyes and held up one of the two remaining moldy powdered donuts to her. It was a test. If she dropped it in disgust, it was still mine. If she made a grab at me for the package, I had a military KA-bar knife in my other hand. She took the single donut and examined it, lips wrinkling. She picked off a major green spot and took a bite. She ignored the powdered sugar covering her lipstick. Then she met my eyes.

“Where do I get a gun?” she said, nodding at my rifle.

I couldn’t help it. I grinned. Hadn’t in weeks. Oh, waiter? Table for two for the zombie apocalypse, please.

So, write, write, write. I write every day. It keeps your brain focused on words, sentences, structure, noticing the world around you. If I’m not near my computer, I’ve been known to use Apple’s Pages on my iPhone while sitting in waiting rooms. Every paragraph counts. Then I export whatever I’ve written in Microsoft Word format as an email to myself to get it to my computer later. Maybe you can utilize your phone/tablet/computer/paper notebook on your daily bus commute. Let the river of words flow.

You will be tempted to do other things. You will suddenly notice mail that demands to be dealt with, shelves that should be dusted, a toilet that needs cleaning. Maybe dancing barefoot in the snow is inexplicably appealing. Tie yourself to the mast and ignore the harpies. You must write during writing time else all is lost. A missing writing session becomes a disappeared week, a month, and before you know it you can’t remember where you stopped in your plot and why your protagonist is angry. Don’t let this happen to you. It is your duty to persevere past all obstacles. Habits can be set in as little as two weeks whether it’s flossing or writing. Do yourself and your dentist a favor. Write your schedule down and keep at it despite the out-of-town company, floods, and birthdays. You are the captain and the boss. Keep your schedule because no one else will. No excuses. I wrote through a mild bout of Covid and several UTIs. You’ll probably feel better having something to do.

When you complete a writing session, give yourself a gold star or a sticker. Seriously. Do it. My partner’s graduate students loved getting her stickers on their homework. It is a visible incentive. Why do you think slot machines give you little payouts? To keep you playing! Same with 9-5 jobs but you get a paycheck. After five to seven stars, give yourself a reward. Ice cream, candy, a movie, a night out with friends. Whatever is rewarding to you. You deserve it. You’re not getting paid for writing (yet); so, this is your pay-off.

Speaking of such, don’t forget to get up if your session is longer than an hour and MOVE and look out a window to rest your eyes. Stay healthy. Get a beverage. (Probably skip the Writer’s Tears Irish whiskey til its reward time.)

Feel sufficiently browbeat? Enough of that. You get the point. So, sit back and relax while you and I plan our attack on the book monster, hero. I own several magic wands. At least one should help.

Caution: If you are really sick, take care of yourself first. You can’t write or take care of anyone else if you can’t make it to the bathroom or breathe. During my Covid case, I visited my doctor via telemed first to see what they advised. Since I get to check most of the high-risk conditions on the Covid list, I didn’t want to be found as a cold body with a computer on my lap open to an unfinished book at some distant point when the post office called into the police for a welfare check on my address for failing to get my mail out of the box. Safety first. In case of disaster, grab the pets, children, then your computer & get to safety.