The value of a 10-minute timer
This is adapted from Write What You Don’t Know: 10 Steps to Writing with Confidence, Energy, and Flow by Allegra Huston and James Navé. Click here to purchase the paperback. It’s also available on Kindle and iBooks. Join our mailing list to be alerted when the online video course becomes available in May 2023.
Setting a timer might seem like putting pressure on yourself, but in fact it’s the opposite! A 10-minute timer removes the pressure to write well, because how can you possibly write anything good in 10 minutes? (Spoiler alert: You’ll be amazed! Many people say they write better in 10 minutes than they can in an hour.) That’s why we don’t recommend a longer time, such as 20 or 30 minutes: that gives you time to worry about what you should write and whether what you’re writing is “good.” With only 10 minutes, you just have to get on with it.
Trying to write well is the enemy of actually writing well. When you try to write well, you get stiff and self-conscious and your sentences start to sound like those of other writers who you think write well. This is why so many aspiring writers feel like they need to find their voice. So, anything you can do to stop yourself trying to write well will help you.
You’ve probably seen a writer in a movie yanking the paper out of the typewriter and throwing it at the trash can, and it misses and lands on the floor among lots of other balled-up pieces of paper. We are supposed to think this is a frustrated writer whose work is not going well.
But what if the writing is going well? What if throwaway writing is a vital part of the creative process?
Photographers shoot a thousand images and throw away the vast majority of them. Artists draw in sketchbooks—thousands of pictures that will never be seen by the public. Musicians noodle around with chords, not knowing if they’ll turn into a melody or not. This is all “throwaway” work. And it’s essential.
But, like many people, you may have bought into the idea that this doesn’t apply to writers. You may have thought that your writing was supposed to come out more or less “right” the first time. You know the language, so why did the words not add up to what you want to say? You might have thought that the fault is with you: you’re just not talented enough. You’re not “a good writer.”
So, what if it does apply to writers? Like a photographer or a musician, focus on the process, not the result.
We all do many things in life because we want a particular result. It’s natural to focus on that result, to want it to come quickly, to want there to be a clear path leading directly to it from where you are now. Unfortunately, this mindset isn’t helpful for writing. As soon as you start thinking about the result, you start assessing whether you’re getting closer to it or further from it. Or whether you’re getting closer to it fast enough. Or whether you’ll ever reach it at all. This is why an indefinite writing period, or even a longer timer such as 20 or 30 minutes, can be problematic: it gives you time to fixate on the result. But 10 minutes is throwaway. If you get nothing of interest at all—which is unlikely, though possible—big deal. You only spent 10 minutes.
You can spend 10 minutes and 10 minutes and 10 minutes—but each 10 minutes is throwaway. Like photographers and musicians and artists, you’re doing “throwaway” work which serves a vital purpose: honing your skills, letting your imagination play, giving yourself material to work with.
Almost certainly, you won’t throw all of it away. You’ll find gems in this material, and perhaps you’ll decide to set them and polish them. The thing is, you can’t identify the gems until after you’ve done the writing, just like the photographer, clicking away, doesn’t know which shots will make the final cut. Statistically, each shot is very likely to be thrown away.
When you embrace the idea of throwaway writing, you stop trying and just write. You take pleasure in stringing words together the way a musician takes pleasure in the sounds of the notes. Your imagination feels appreciated and gets jazzed up, since it knows that your inner critic isn’t going to slap it down by saying “That’s not good enough” or “That’s stupid” or “That’s not relevant to my project.” Your imagination doesn’t give you gifts if it thinks they’re going to be rejected.