3 Principles For Writing Better
The ideas and tools that helped me publish 20 new articles this year.
Writers Write.
I started journaling last year. Mostly as a coping mechanism.
Journaling was my way to purge and capture my thoughts as I sat at home, dealing with the morass of the first act of our COVID pandemic. Emptying my brain into a notebook each morning — just for a few minutes —seemed to lighten my load. It clarified my thinking. My series on the Chief Reminding Officer and Why Sales Sucks were born out of messy, scribbled, barely-intelligible morning journal entries from last year. Journaling helped me get my thoughts out of my head and laid out on the table. It helped me realize which few were worth building upon. These ideas did not come in a flash of inspiration. The “eureka” moment never arrived. What did was a faint, gravitational glimmer. A barely-perceptible tug on the line. “Huh. That could be kind of interesting.”
Fast forward a year, and — by staying attuned to those tugs — I have a bit of a writing streak going. Most weekdays I wake up around 6, feed our dog, and sit down with an iced coffee to write. A few hundred words or sometimes a few pages: the volume doesn’t matter. I am writing. And, in doing so, I am building a body of evidence that points to an exciting and undeniable new truth about my identity: I am becoming a writer.
I like that.
Along the way, I discovered a few things that seem to help me stay on the path: A handful of writing principles that have stuck with me. These aren’t hacks. They aren’t shortcuts. They’re earned secrets stolen from masters of the craft. They’re fundamentals that I can always return to. They help me create and keep momentum. They help me re-center my game when I’m feeling off.
Most importantly, they just work. At least they do for me.
Maybe they will for you too.
Writing Principle #1: Everything is Material.
David Perell shared a great article recently on how to cure writer’s block. His most helpful suggestion? “Write from a place of abundance.” It’s easier to cook a great meal when your kitchen’s mise en place — your prepared ingredients — are organized and ready. I’ve discovered that my best work isn’t inspired. It doesn’t come to me all in one wave. It’s assembled bit-by-bit over time. And like playing free-form with Legos, the more pieces I have to choose from, the easier and more fun the building becomes.
To build my cache of material, I use a combination of Roam Research and Ryan Holiday’s Notecard System to keep track of what I read and the ideas that result. I also use Readwise as a forcing function to return to my Kindle highlights — it allows me to tag my highlights and then dumps them into Roam for future use.
I’m not a purist. My system isn’t perfect. My inventory of quotes and ideas is scattered across physical notecards and digitally on Roam. But this works for me. Every week I add a few more highlights and a few more notecards to the pile. I have hundreds now. And the act of reviewing them— especially when I give myself some space between collecting and curating — always spurs new ideas. It takes the pressure off. It reminds me: I don’t have to come up with anything new. I just have to find the piece that fits.
Writing Principle #2: Writing is Rewriting.
In Do The Work, Steven Pressfield shares this rule about first drafts, which he calls “Cover the Canvas.”
“One rule for first full working drafts: get them done ASAP.”
There’s a reason for his insistence. As my boss likes to tell me, “You’ve never read a first draft.” Writing is rewriting. There’s a reason they call them rough drafts: None of them are very good. Ernest Hemingway wrote 47 different endings to a Farewell to Arms before settling on the one we’ve all read. That kind of trial-and-error is necessary. It leads to a better final product. But it also takes time. Any tool that helps shorten the cycle between writing and rewriting is a good thing. Especially if it makes the work fun.
Disappear Writing makes it fun. It turns the messy expulsion of a first draft into a game. It’s simple and it’s free. Disappear has two components: A page and a timer. All you have to do is write until the timer goes off. Oh, and I almost forgot. If you stop typing for more than 5 seconds, the app erases your work. All of it. How’s that for a forcing function? You can’t not get a first draft done when the clock is ticking and the red border of doom is closing in on you. The app isn’t just a tool, it’s an unforgiving reminder. Put something down. Anything. Keep going. Make it better later. Write first. Then rewrite.
Hemingway helps me with the rewriting part. I paste my rough drafts into Hemingway, and its color-coded interface immediately points out my hard-to-read sentences (welcome — you’re inside of one now), my weak adjectives, and the other grammatical failings that rob my words of vigor. It’s peer editing without the hassle and shame of asking someone to read your shit. It gets you almost automatically from draft 1 to draft 2. Then, paraphrasing Stephen King’s On Writing, all that’s left is to polish.
Writing Principle #3: Study The Craft.
I hosted a book club in my office this past week on The War Of Art. If you haven’t read the book yet, stop. Go buy it. It’s just over 100 pages, with plenty of quickie one-page chapters thrown in. You can finish it in an afternoon.
The middle of The War of Art is about “Turning Pro.” It’s about what happens when you start taking creating seriously. When you commit to doing the work you were meant to do. This is the part of the book that forces you to look in the mirror — at yourself and your habits. At the differences between a professional and an amateur. This is my favorite page in “Turning Pro.”
This page lays out what the best in any field do well: They impose simplicity. The best don’t overcomplicate. They don’t glorify. They honor their craft by mastering its fundamentals.
Here’s a great way to master the fundamentals: study the greats. I’m sorry — you’ll never swing like Tiger Woods or shoot like Steph Curry. But striving to “do the basic things that they do perfectly” is a great recipe for improvement. Writing is no different. It’s a craft, with a few basic rules that can be mastered. The recipe is simple: Identify the fundamentals. Then practice.
Here’s the good news. For masters of their craft, there’s an absolute racket in sharing what you know. As a result, some of the best writers ever have written amazing “how to write” books. Here are some of my favorites. Pick one, study it, and practice the fundamentals inside.
- The Elements of Style by Strunk and White
- On Writing Well by William Zinsser
- On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King
- The War of Art, Turning Pro, and Do the Work — all by Steven Pressfield
Final Thoughts
James Clear wrote in Atomic Habits that:
“Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.”
I try to remember this every morning when I sit down to do my work. It doesn’t matter what ends up on the page. It’s the act of writing that’s important. If I keep showing up, something good will happen. It’s just a matter of time.
But I’ve also learned that willpower only takes you so far. At some point, you need a little help. The more you can design an environment that nudges you towards the act of writing— that makes collecting your material, getting to and through a first draft, and mastering the fundamentals just a little easier — the more momentum you can build. And writing, like any other endeavor worth pursuing, is all about momentum.
These 3 simple principles have helped me create that environment and build some momentum of my own. The momentum feels good.
I hope they can do the same for you.
