Your Cart is Empty
In a perfect world, there would be a quick fix for writer’s block. A potent elixir that could jumpstart your brain, magic up genius ideas, and make your fingers race across the keyboard like a lightning storm crackling through the sky.
Sadly, we don’t live in a perfect world. But there are proven strategies you can use to get back into your story. Let’s explore a few of them.
Understanding why you’re recoiling from your writing project, even though you desperately want to write, is the first step.
If you’re continually experiencing writer’s block, address it — don’t ignore it. They say a problem shared is a problem halved, so share your problem with your journal.
If you’re continually experiencing writer’s block, address it — don’t ignore it.
Bestselling ghostwriter, mystery writer, book coach, and developmental editor Dr. Rachel Clair wrote on this topic for our book Set Your Story Free: The Writer’s Guide to Freewrite.
She suggests shifting your mindset by using prompts like: “I can’t write because…” or “I’m not enjoying my writing project right now because…”
When you know the answers, it’s easier to interrogate the specific issue you’re experiencing, realize it's probably unfounded, and move past it.
Finish your journaling session on a positive note. Answer these questions: “I am excited about my writing project because…” and “I will write today because…” Then, jump straight into your project!
Imagine you’re heading off on a cross-country road trip. Your tank is full and you’re raring to go. But your car keeps stalling and breaking down on the side of the road. You can’t rack up the mileage when you’re constantly stopping and starting again. Your destination always feels far away. It’s the same with writing.
If you dip in and out of writing without a sustainable regular routine, you’ll likely encounter writer’s block. To combat this, build a regular writing habit, whether it’s 30 minutes twice a week or two hours every day.
If you dip in and out of writing without a sustainable regular routine, you’ll likely encounter writer’s block.
Find what’s sustainable and realistic for you and, come figurative hell or high water, stick to it. Try habit stacking until writing in a certain place and time becomes second nature.
Writing a novel is a marathon. But it can, and should, include sprints. A sprint is a timed writing session — it’s as simple as that. Writing against the clock provides the urgency and pressure needed to get the words down, even when you’re not particularly in the mood to write.
Writing against the clock provides the urgency and pressure needed to get the words down, even when you’re not particularly in the mood to write.
Depending on what makes you most productive, you might like to challenge yourself to write X number of words in X number of minutes. (You can use the Pomodoro technique or a good old-fashioned egg timer.)
Or you could allot, for example, one hour of your time to writing without a specific goal or word count target. When you make your writing time sacred and distraction-free, writing becomes more tempting than staring at the wall.
Distractions are a writer’s Achilles’ heel. Anything you can do to reduce distractions and tap into deep concentration will help you write more and more often.
One of the best ways to bat away distractions is to write on a single-purpose device with focused functionality.
Enter the ultimate tonic for writer’s block: Freewrite. This dedicated drafting device — free from blinking notifications and noisy alerts — helps writers 2-3x their creative output. Each Freewrite is specifically designed to give you the forward momentum to keep writing without looking back, so you can edit and polish later.
One of the best ways to bat away distractions is to write on a single-purpose device with focused functionality.
-
Writer’s block sufferers, we know it’s tough out there. But implement these strategies and you will rediscover your productivity and fall back in love with your writing project.
Recently, over 10,000 writers, writing instructors, and publishers from across the U.S. gathered at the annual conference for the Association of Writers & Writing Programs.
We asked them to answer a few questions about creativity and living a writing life. Here's what they had to say...
I’ve spent years writing while secretly fearing that a single misplaced word would expose me — not just as a bad writer, but as a fraud.
My background is originally in photography, and I see it there, too. A photographer I know recently posted a before-and-after comparison of their editing from 2018 versus now, asking if we also saw changes in our own work over the years.
Naturally, we should. If our work is the same, years apart, have we really grown as artists?
So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?
So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?
Hitting “publish” on an essay or a blog always stirs up insecurity — the overthinking, the over-editing. The fear that someone will call me out for not being a real writer.
I initially hesitated to make writing part of my freelance work. My background is in photography and design. Writing was something I gravitated toward, but I had no degree to validate it. No official stamp of approval.
Like many writers, I started with zero confidence in my voice — agonizing over edits, drowning in research, second-guessing every word.
I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.
I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.
If my words weren’t my own, they couldn’t be wrong. Ghostwriting meant safety — no risk, no vulnerability, just words without ownership.
I still remember the feeling of scrolling to the bottom of an article I had written and seeing someone else’s name, their face beside words that had once been mine. It felt uncanny — like recognizing your handwriting but not remembering when or why you wrote those words. I knew it was mine, but it didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore.
The truth is, I always wanted to write. As a kid, I imagined it. Yet, I found myself handing over my work, letting someone else own it.
I told myself it didn’t matter. It was work. Getting paid to write should be enough.
But here’s the thing: I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.
I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.
This was true when I was writing under my own name, too. The more I worried about getting it right, the less I sounded like me.
I worried. I worried about how long an essay was (“people will be bored”), finding endless examples as proof of my research (“no way my own opinion is valid on its own”), the title I gave a piece (“it has to be a hook”), or editing out personal touches (“better to be safe than be seen”).
I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting. Advice meant to help only locked me in. It created a sentence rewritten to sound smarter, an opinion softened to sound safer, a paragraph reshaped to sound acceptable.
I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting.
But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.
It took deliberate effort to break this habit. I’m not perfect, but here’s what I know after a year of intentionally letting my writing sound like me:
My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.
But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.
The drive for acceptance is a slippery slope — one we don’t always realize we’re sliding down. It’s present in the small choices that pull us away from artistic integrity: checking how others did it first, tweaking our work to fit a mold, hesitating before saying what we actually mean.
And let’s be honest — this isn’t just about writing. It bleeds into everything.
It’s there when we stay silent in the face of wrongdoing, when we hold back our true way of being, when we choose work that feels “respectable,” whatever that means. It’s in every “yes” we say when we really want to say “no.”
If your self-expression is rooted in a need for acceptance, are you creating for yourself — or for others? Does your work help you explore your thoughts, your life? Does it add depth, energy, and meaning?
My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.
I get it. We’re social creatures. Isolation isn’t the answer. Ignoring societal norms won’t make us better writers. Often, the most meaningful work is born from responding to or resisting those norms.
But knowing yourself well enough to recognize when acceptance is shaping your work brings clarity.
Am I doing this to be part of a community, to build connections, to learn and grow?
Or am I doing this to meet someone else’s expectations, dulling my voice just to fit in?
Here’s what I know as I look back at my writing: I’m grateful for the years spent learning, for the times I sought acceptance with curiosity. But I’m in a different phase now.
I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.
I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.
It’s our differences that drive growth. I want to nurture these connections, to be challenged by difference, to keep writing in a way that feels like me. The me who isn’t afraid to show what I think and care about.
So, I ask you, as I ask myself now:
If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?
If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?
A book deal without an agent? An agent offer after a book deal? Learn how Writer Bobby Miller took his publishing journey into his own hands.
