I have written about writing rituals many times over the past decade — in short reflections, longer explorations, and passing observations. This distills all of it into one place. Grab your Japanese sencha, almond latte, or Jamaican Blue Mountain cup o' joe, settle into your chair, and read on.
What Rituals Actually Do
One of the principles of writing productivity that most writers, writing coaches, mentors, and researchers believe in is the power of daily writing. Simple statements such as "writers write" typify this sentiment. Yet in spite of having this knowledge, many writers and aspiring writers struggle with achieving the consistency of daily writing. Scheduling methods — putting writing in your calendar, making it an appointment with yourself — don't always make a significant difference. Part of the reason is that these methods do not change anything about you.
When we engage in the same behavior, day after day, year after year, engaging in a ritual triggers within us a "push" toward certain behaviors. That push is the point.
What you need is a method that helps make you need to write — a habituated behavior supported by environmental, psychological, and biological stimuli. When writing becomes truly habituated, you experience a sense of meaning when you engage in it. When you do not, you feel a sense of loss.
Writing rituals do not have to be elaborate. Sitting in the same chair, placing the same blanket over your legs, turning off your phone (a must), and sipping the same kind of tea is an example of a ritual. Done over time, these behavioral cues trigger a readiness to act that almost has a compulsive quality. If you are skeptical, devise a simple ritual for yourself prior to writing. Do it each day for two weeks, and see what happens.
The Big Three: Meaning, Mindset, and Entry Points
The purpose of writing rituals is to habituate our writing — to make that time feel off or wrong when we do not engage in it. But not all rituals are created equal. Over time, I have come to believe that the most effective rituals address three things: meaning, mindset, and entry points.
Developing a ritual that has personal or social meaning to you helps create a sense of purpose to your writing outside of the dictates of demands and expectations. This is what separates a true ritual from mere routine. A short meditation or mindfulness practice — and/or self-talk to counter the destructive narratives you may currently hold — allows writing to be cognitively benign at least, and, if we're lucky, genuinely joyful (it is possible, really). Finally, a clear entry point at the end of your ritual — the exact place where you start, page, paragraph, and even sentence — helps you avoid the paralysis by analysis that can too easily occur when you begin considering where to begin.
Make certain your writing ritual is short. Certainly under five minutes, preferably under three.
Here is something many writers miss: rituals are not just for when things are hard. When your writing is going well, when you are consistently settling in and using your sessions efficiently, you may tell yourself that you no longer need them — that they are somehow superfluous now that "you got this." This is a mistake. A ritual is not a remedy for struggle. It is the architecture of a sustainable writing life. Do not abandon it when you feel you no longer need it. That is precisely when it is doing its job.
The Problem of Over-Ritualizing
Not all rituals are helpful to all writers, and it would be dishonest not to name the pitfalls.
Over-ritualizing is the development of a long list of rituals that consume far too much time. One aspiring writer described her prewriting ritual as taking a walk, making tea, having a cigarette, and a litany of other activities — so that once she ultimately sat down to write, she barely had enough time to produce any work.
While over-ritualizers may genuinely believe they need these preparations, some are using them as a way of avoiding writing — a defense mechanism against the fear of failing. The logic goes something like this: If I only had more time, I would be able to write. But since I don't have enough time and I am not writing, I have not really failed. I merely do not have enough time. For many, it is easier to engage in long, exhaustive rituals than to risk failure.
If this sounds familiar, try timing your rituals. Then consciously cut the duration in half. If you find yourself looking for other means of procrastinating, you will need to identify the underlying beliefs driving the avoidance. Albert Ellis's Overcoming Procrastination is an excellent place to start.
Rituals are tools. Tools must be assessed, not worshipped.
What a Good Ritual Looks Like
It should ground you and put you in the mental space for writing. It should be simple and not more than five minutes. For many people, it is wise to include disconnecting from technology — turning off your cell, closing your browser unless needed for a critical task, stepping away from social media.
That is it. Simple. Consistent. Short.
Rituals are a rich and powerful part of human existence, connecting us to meaning, to each other, to the deeper rhythms of our lives. But as writing tools, they serve a simpler function: to help us be consistent, one session at a time. 🦄
No comments:
Post a Comment