For as long as I’ve been doing this writing thing, writers have predominantly counted their words as a measure of progress. That never really made sense to me because, frankly, some days I end up negative in the word count department, having emptied some of the shelves of products that just weren’t selling.
Progress is progress, whether it’s etching words into stone or wiping chalk lines from a blackboard. Whatever your process as a writer, every minute you spend working on your manuscript is a step you need to take to create the finished version containing all of those final words. What’s more, when you’re getting those really good words you know you’re going to keep, the ones that will end up carved on the monument, that’s really good progress. Right? That’s the ideal, isn’t it?
Trouble is “progress is progress” isn’t very satisfying because, well, how much progress did I make today?
I’m a staunch supporter of the idea that a writer’s process is a writer’s process. What works for you is what works for you. That’s valid, and nobody can take it away from you. Part of coming to know yourself as a writer is knowing what works for you as a writer and identifying your process.
Which is why I think counting words is a bit of a distraction.
I get why writers count words, though. We all want to know when a piece will be finished. We all want a deterministic gauge for progress. We want to be able to look at a meter and know how close we are to being finished. If we estimate a novel will be 100k words, 1k words today means we got 1% closer to being done.
But unless your first draft is your final draft, that’s not true.
I’m a drafter, so word counts have never worked for me. My form of progress isn’t just writing any old words; it’s writing the right words.
For that reason among others, I started focusing on time that I sat in front of the computer. A goal is meant to give you something to strive for, and the idea of focusing on time was that it allowed me to use that time for whatever I needed to do in my process and didn’t limit me to writing words in a manuscript.
One thing remains constant, though: There is no deterministic time measurement for when a piece is finished. I think every writer knows this instinctually, and that’s maybe why focusing on time feels unsatisfying. You sit there for an hour, but the amount that fills up the progress-o-meter is completely abstract. Whether you write a hundred or a million words, you sat there for an hour and you have no idea how much closer to being done you are.
Time yields forward momentum, whether you write lots of words, few words, no words, or negative words, but because that forward momentum is totally unquantifiable, it may not scratch the itch we all feel.
Recently, I realized what I was really doing with focusing on a set amount of time: seeking the wave.
I’ve become a literary surfer, brah.
We all know the wave. Some of you may refer to it as the “flow” or “zone.” Whatever you call it, the good words come more easily because your brain is pumping whatever chemicals it needs to conjure those words. It feels less like you’re pushing your manuscript and more like it’s leading you along, taking you with it into an unknown destination. It feels less like composition and more like discovery.
Try This
Set a goal to catch at least one wave every day. Customize whatever process or ritual you need. For me, it’s a decent breakfast, a good coffee brew, and a quiet morning. For you, maybe it’s an hour with a good book first, or maybe it’s cleaning, or a walk, or a cup of tea… Whatever it takes to get you there, that’s now part of your process. That’s now writing even though you’re not typing any words.
The process brings the wave. The process brings progress.
One of the reasons I like this is, if the goal is to find that wave, you’re thinking less about the mechanics of writing and more about the circumstances and ritual of it. You’re not trying to manifest words from your fingertips. You’re trying to pull them from that weirdness within you that makes you you.
Instead of grinding out words to get to a daily checkpoint like a chore or a job, you’re doing what you need to do to facilitate a good writing session. If you focus on the wave, you will condition yourself to seek out your creativity and artistry in such a way that you’re producing your best work more often.
Maybe you’ll write fewer words, but those words will be better. What’s more, you’ll be more likely to keep those words.
And if you have a day when there are no waves and the water is calm and peaceful, don’t beat yourself up. Maybe that’s part of the appeal of the word count: no matter what, you end the day with words. But here’s a critical thing: I’m not telling you to wait for inspiration. No. You’re going to need to write for the wave to come in. A surfer has to be on the water to catch that wave. If it doesn’t come today, you should still have words. It just doesn’t matter how many words you have.
There are lots of writers espousing the virtues of putting your butt in the chair and your fingers on the keyboard, and discipline is an important virtue every writer needs when hunting the wave. However, we all know writing well requires more than willpower. Creative writing isn’t tradecraft. We’re not hammering in nails or assembling parts on a workbench. We don’t just seek good workmanship when we write; we need it. It’s essential.
The point of the wave is to be present, to be active in the search but to be patient, to be ready for the moment when the surge comes and to do everything you need to do beforehand to prepare for it.
Catch that surge. Ride it however long it takes you. When it’s done, you’ve met your goal for the day, whether you have a hundred words or a million. Get up. Do something else for yourself that helps you get back on the water later or tomorrow to find another wave.
And ride them one after another until the story is finished.