Just do it.

Most People Think The Hardest Part of Writing Is Starting. It Isn't.

The great American playwright/screenwriter/novelist Paddy Chayefsky, who gave us such films as Network, Marty, Altered States, The Hospital, and with many other works, found along the way that in order to remain focused on the work at hand, he had to write down the theme of the project he was working on and tape it to his typewriter so that it would stare him in the face all day long. Or, as the man put it himself:

As soon as I figure out what my play is about, I type it out in one line and Scotch tape it to the front of my typewriter. After that, nothing goes into the play that is not on-theme.

Chayefsky remains the only writer in history who’s won three solo Oscars for both original and adapted screenplays, so it stands to reason the tactic worked for him.

Most people think the hardest part of writing a book is starting. It isn’t.

While the white page or screen is occasionally daunting to the best of us, that’s not a writing problem; it’s an organizational problem. Either you haven’t outlined enough what you’re about to write, or you’re overthinking it, or both. Just start the damn thing already, you’ll do fine. Sheesh.

No, the hardest part of writing, actually, is continuing with it after the excitement wears off. After the idea stops feeling new, after the structure gets messy, after the work turns quiet and private and unglamorous. After you’ve started getting bored, or begun questioning why you took this damn thing on in the first place and went and told your friends you’re writing a novel and now they’re all starting to ask when will it be done so they can read it, and how come you write so slowly, and there’s a job opening down the street at that restaurant that just opened, in case you, you know. (Next time: shhhhhh.)

The truth is every writer, professional or aspiring, deals with this problem from time to time, and if they say they don’t then they shouldn’t be trusted to house sit for you anymore while you’re on vacation. I mean, who knows what else they’re lying about? Next thing you know, you come home, the plants are all dead, the power’s been turned off, your liquor cabinet has been drained of all value, and your cousin is lying face down on the floor. What’s she even doing here?

Helpfully, there are hacks to get the writer through the task, and the good news is you don’t have to figure out how to use a typewriter or even scotch tape to use them.

Victor Hugo, a victim of procrastination, was threatened by his publisher in 1830 as the deadline loomed for him to turn in his very first novel. He hadn’t even started it yet, and he was now weeks away from his career ending. So, Hugo did what any of us would naturally do: he had a servant get rid of all his clothes, ensuring he’d remain indoors with his manuscript, since the alternative was going outdoors and into the city completely naked. Granted, it was Paris, but still.

With weeks to go before his project’s due date, Hugo wrote like a naked madman, and met the deadline with his manuscript, thereby saving his writing career. And probably a future case of pneumonia.

The title of that book? The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It did okay.

The point here is that everyone hits a moment of doubt while writing any work worth reading. The trick is getting through with whatever hack works for you. You don’t have to get rid of all your clothes and you don’t have to buy a bunch of scotch tape — however tempting that combo may be, yes — you just need to get on to the next page, the next paragraph, the next sentence, the next word.

If those guys can do it, you can too.

Thanks for reading!