How to begin
Fourteen ways to start and sustain a new endeavor
I’ve posted almost 200 substacks here in the three years since I started what is now Fierce Grace. Recently, a friend who wants to start a newsletter asked me for tips on how to get started. And I realized the tips are not writing specific, they are more about how I start and sustain most things, from an exercise routine to a spiritual practice to a new book. So I wanted to share them here.
Know what and why. What are you doing and why? I started writing here as practice. I’ve written fiction since I could hold a pen, and I wanted to practice non-fiction, as I was planning on writing a non-fiction book. I committed to write 800-1500 words a week, every week, no matter what.
Be realistic. Knowing what you are doing and why can help you be realistic. Of course, I wanted and hoped that I would rocket to fame, gather scads of subscribers in a very short time, make big money. When, not surprisingly, none of those things happened, I was able to recalibrate my expectations. A steadily increasing subscriber count. A higher-than-average open rate. Win! Win! Very little community engagement comments or notes activity. I didn’t have to frame it as a loss; I could frame it as more information.
Lower your standards. Prepare to do a bad job. And be ok with the small, tentative start. In her book Acedia, Kathleen Norris references
“[W]hat the late poet William Stafford used to say about writer’s block. He claimed never to have experienced it, because as soon as he felt it coming on, her lowered his standards. Writing is like fishing, Stafford would say. A nibble will always come, but all too often we dismiss this little nudge as not worthy of the great works we vaingloriously imagine we will write.”*
Have the right tools. Many of the jobs I need to do for my work, from video calls with clients, to editing social media clips, require tools. And I buy nice tools that make my jobs easier. I spend more on software services than many, but once I find something that works well for me, I’ll pay for it, and I never regret it. It removes one more opportunity for friction. Learning new software or using buggy programs or giving up my data for “free” stuff is all friction for me. Clear away what friction you can by investing in the best tools you can afford.
Don’t spend too much time throat clearing. Sometimes, when a person is about to speak in public, they clear their throat. Once is fine, but too much throaty catarrh expectoration is gross. When people spend lots of time getting ready rather than doing a thing, I call it throat clearing, like someone who can’t start the novel until they have their Trello board set up just as they like it. A bit of warm up is fine. I was trying to find the quote I used from Norris above, and I couldn’t find it. I searched electronically and manually, flipping through the highlighted portions of the 334-page book to no avail. Then I stopped. I have limited time to write this and I’m not spending all of it trying to find the quote. The thought stands up without it. I went back when I had more time and found it, but it didn’t stop me in my tracks.
Bundle. When I’m trying a new workout, I will bribe myself by consuming media I like. The new lifts at the gym with my favorite podcast, the stationary bike workout I am uninspired to do with a British police show on my tablet. What motivates you? Soundtrack, beverage, fluffy slippers?
Symbol and ritual. What says time to start working to you? For me it’s a hot cup of Genmaicha tea. Right now, I have bits of toasted rice floating in a tea strainer in the cup next to me and my office is filling with the scent of roasty green tea. We are embodied, and reminding our body what we are about to do can help. When I am about to see a coaching client I light a candle, which I don’t do for any other type of meeting. I do my makeup differently when I’m on a podcast. All of these are symbolic ways I signal to myself that I’m creating something now.
The egg timer. When I first started a meditation practice, I balked at sitting quietly for extended periods of time. A friend told me to set an egg timer for three minutes and meditate for just that amount of time. I could probably hold my breath for three minutes, so I tried it. This was before we had smartphones with timers, so I took the small white timer from the kitchen counter and turned the dial to three minutes. It worked. I often kept going past the three minutes, but when I didn’t, I had permission to stop. I built the muscle, slowly, to meditate for longer periods. Try to start the thing for three minutes.
Know yourself. Do new things when your body and mind are ready for them. Are you a morning person? Do it first thing. Get easily distracted? Turn off notifications and step away from anything that will steal your focus. If you are neurodiverse, talk to other people or research ways to work with your brain, like body-doubling for someone with ADHD. I wrote my second novel late at night because the only time I would be undisturbed was when my kids were in bed. I wanted long stretches of time, so Friday and Saturday nights were when I wrote, so I could sleep in the next morning.
Stop in the middle. If starting is hard for you, try to stop in the middle. If I’m writing something and need to stop, I will write up notes about where to start when I return to the piece. I rarely stop at the end of a chapter, I try to stop in the middle, sometimes even in the middle of a sentence, so starting is picking up a thread, not facing a blank page.
Pace yourself. I love to be inspired, but I also need to manage my energy to be able to keep working day after day. Sometimes I need to stop on a Monday after 2 hours, to be able to write again effectively on a Wednesday. Get up, walk around the block, stretch your shoulders.
Expect heavy weather. Often, a new task, business or creative work will be hard. Members of my inner community have lots to say when I start, much of it negative. “You are delusional, you have no talent.” “No one will ever read/buy/want the thing you are working so hard on.” Etc. Etc. I’ve done this long enough to understand the storms, and I try not to get to invested in the passing emotional turbulence.
Honor Resistance. At the same time, it is important for me to honor resistance, to listen to discern if a resistance to do a particular type of work in a specific time is procrastination which I should push through, or a genuine need to rest. Right before the pandemic, I did a one woman show called Disclosure. It was one of my favorite creative works, but since it required me to stand on a stage in front of lots of people and tell the story of my son’s car accident, disability and death, I only did the show three times. I’m glad I did it, but I also am glad I honored my resistance to putting myself through that another time. It was the right decision.
Rest. I have a tendency to work all the time, which is not great. Rest. If you do good work, take a break. If you do bad work, take a break. Move your body, gather with friends or family, walk in the sand, listen to music, put your hands in the dirt. Rest is also recuperation, restoring your mind or body or spirit so you can continue to create the next time you sit down to do what you do.
Like most artists, I have to work hard to carve out time to do my art. I have a day job, family responsibilities, all the tasks and duties of a life. I try to remember that even on the days when writing is chore, drudgery, a slog, I am still an artist, and that matters, and being able to have any time at all is gift. And accomplishment. Win! Win!
Note, I have a whole chapter on navigating resistance and embracing discomfort in my book The Saint and the Drunk, starting on page 219.
* From Acedia and Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer’s Life by Kathleen Norris, p 283