For years, I longed for a daily practice while taking comfort in the authors who claimed not to have one. Some months I wrote morning pages every day. Some months I didn’t. Some stretches I labored at my novel, meeting friends in cafes to force myself to stay at the task. Other stretches I set the work aside, distracted by other things. Life.

But the practice of writing–like parenting or prayer–is a daily one. I know this. It’s the butt-in-chair, logging hours accrual that does it. Those days I let go by without being aware of my writing, and my writing practice, are lost to me now, in a way that the days and months and years that went by working on books and stories that will never see the light of day are not lost. They built my strength, they kept me connected.

Sometimes the work is editing, sometimes journaling or brainstorming, planning or replanning. Sometimes it’s writing scene. It all counts as writing. You sit down with the work, tune into the story, spend time as you must with anything you love enough to call it your own.

A Practical Alphabet for Writers: Find all the letters so far at https://bookwritingworld.com/blogs/