One thousand words. It’s not a lot. But neither is a single grain of sand.

Earlier this year, I hit a hard realization: Writing wasn’t working for me anymore. I was writing in spurts. Some days I’d hit 3000 words but most days I wasn’t writing anything. Operation: Awesome was stalling, and I needed to jumpstart the engine if it was going to survive.

Part of Operation: Awesome was collecting the tools I should’ve gathered a decade ago: the study, the concept of form and genre (Step One), the dedication to a path (Step Two), and reading regularly (Step Three). I was doing well at those. I obsessed over structure and story, knew the type of career I want to have, and have been reading stacks of books in my audience and genre. Operation: Awesome had fixed a lot of my flaws as a writer, or helped me work on fixing them anyway, but I was struggling with one very important thing. I lacked the discipline to write (Step Four) and with every day I became less motivated to work on that discipline.

I don’t have a lot of time to dedicate to writing. Most of my time is spent raising my kids (and my dogs and cat and, well, the chinchilla pretty much takes care of himself). My wife and I don’t have the cash to put my son into daycare so, even though my daughter is at school, my attention is elsewhere throughout the day. When my wife gets home, I want to spend time with her and the kids. By the time bedtime rolls around, I’m out of juice. Sometimes she doesn’t get home until after 8 o’clock at night which leaves me even more exhausted (and is she too). After 13+ hours of always-on fathering, I just don’t have the word count in me. I sit and read or catch up on television or play games. Or, maybe, on rare occasion, hang out with friends.

In recent months, that routine had worn me to a nub. I was stressed to my limit, and I started to resent writing. I felt too much pressure to cram all my week’s writing into two days. Any other time I wasn’t writing, when I was spending time with family or catching up on books/games/shows, I felt like I was wasting time I should be writing. I was stymied.

My work and my life were too muddled and I wasn’t dedicating the time and attention I should to either. I had hit a wall, and I had to make a choice: Write or find something else to do.

In order to make sense of this, I did what my pretentious teenaged self should have done, I turned to the professionals for advice. I read somewhere that Cory Doctorow (of BoingBoing and Little Brother fame) has (or maybe had) a writing goal of 250 words a day. Stephen King, one of the most popular American novelists of all time, writes 2000 words a day.

That blew my mind. These guys weren’t nose-first in their work from dawn to dusk as I imagined. A lot of aspiring authors I know huddle in front of their screens day-in and day-out and, hey, if I could, I would probably do the exact same thing. But I can’t. I have other, bigger responsibilities, but I knew I could find a sweet spot between Doctorow and King, something that worked for me.

I looked at my schedule and contracts and realized to hit my deliverables, I only needed to write 1000 words a day. That’s it. About an hour’s worth of work. While I can’t park my son in front of the television for six hours every day, I can set him in front of Sesame Street or a couple episodes of Dora (or, his favorite, Dino Dan) and crank out 1000 words.

I decided that was my plan. I would write 1000 words a day, every day. But, I added some rules to make that more meaningful:

A Thousand Words of Fiction or Other Paid Work. Not blog posts, Twitter, emails, LittleFears.com updates, or even the work I do for AdventureGamers.com. The thousand words had to be on projects I was selling (or hoping to sell) or paid gigs. All that other stuff had to be done outside the goal, at night or during the extra work hours my wife’s days off allowed me.

No Making Up Missed Days. I couldn’t push one day’s work onto another. Meaning: I couldn’t skip Tuesday but promise myself I’d write 2000 Wednesday. If I didn’t hit my goal on a day, I had to accept that as failure even if I did write 2000 words the next day. (I take this from something attributed to Jerry Seinfeld: When you hit your day’s writing goal, mark it on a calendar. As the chain of marked days grows, you become more motivated not to break the chain.)

I Couldn’t Write Ahead. Same idea as above. I couldn’t buy a half-day Tuesday by writing 1500 words on Monday. Each day’s goal was separate.

I Could Go Over. If I felt inspired, I could do 1500 or 2000 or more. But I didn’t have to. 1000 was the goal.

That was a couple months ago. Overall, I’ve done well. I’ve missed days but not enough to beat myself up. On the positive side, I’ve noticed some big changes beyond the increase in productivity:

I’m Happier. Writing is working for me again. I get my 1000 done and the writing stress is gone. I’m not up late berating myself for watching Supernatural or playing games instead of writing.

I Have Gained Control of My Schedule. Since I know my output, I can better gauge my workload. This means I know at a glance if I can take on other work or if I have to turn something down. This is new to me (and is a big reason I was not good at freelancing for so long). But now I know my schedule and I don’t overload it.

I Jump Into Writing More Easily. Another great piece of writing advice, attributed to multiple sources, is to stop writing in mid-idea so you know where to pick up the next day. Writing only 1000 words puts me mid-idea almost every time so I come back to a project knowing where to start. The words flow from there.

I Have More Writing Energy. Because I’m not squeezing 5000 words out of my day’s imagination reservoir, I come into the daily goal refreshed, with a full day’s creative rest between rather small bursts of output.

So, after a long time struggling with my goals as a writer, I have found a system that is working for me. I’ve already handed in a bunch of contract work and am almost done with a new book for Little Fears Nightmare Edition.

A side effect of the new plan saw my last bit of contract work line up with May 31st, meaning I was free to start new projects on June 1st. After some noodling, I put down designs for the Big Summer Project, which I’ve codenamed Operation: Last Chance. This is something that terrifies and excites me in almost equal measure. See, there’s more to this new phase than I have said, more at stake than simply hitting a daily goal, but I can’t talk about it just now. I’ll leave the details of that for another time.

See, I lost focus.

And that happens. I’m fallible and I know it. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have initiated Operation: Awesome. I would have just sat around wondering why no one recognized my genius.

A couple weeks ago, I talked about how I had some connections to a potential publisher and how I was looking at novel options suited for that. I let those connections overshadow something very crucial: the identity I want as a writer. Instead of thinking “What type of career do I want?” I thought “What’s my best chance of getting published?”

Now that’s not a bad question to ask. If you have an opportunity, hey, take it. I will never fault a creative for taking the money. In this case, the opportunity was something I’d like to have, yes, but not what I really truly want. My passion lies somewhere else. When I walk into a bookstore, I know the section that feels like home. I know where I want my books to be stocked. When I look at the list of authors I’m studying, they’re in that section. And while I read books in a variety of genres and markets, I have a clear vision of who I am as an author right now and where I want my career to start.

So I’m not writing one of the novels I talked about in that post. I’m still writing a novel. I’m just not writing the novel that makes sense for that connection. I’m writing the novel I want to write. The novel that makes me smile and makes me want to keep writing.

Last week, I put a list together of all the books I had plots for. Nothing new, I didn’t invent on the spot, and I came up with eight titles. Later that day, I remembered another three. Today, I found another. Just typing this up now, I remembered another one.

That’s a lot of imaginary books.

And that’s what they are right now: imaginary. They don’t exist. I haven’t written them. And carrying around the ideas doesn’t make me a writer. After I jotted the first eight, I decided it was time to kick off the novel phase of Operation: Awesome.

The goal is to write three novels within the next six years. One novel every two years is doable. I hope to fill the remaining time with paying gigs and island vacations. The former more probable than the latter but while I’m hoping, why not?

So, three books. Okay, sure. But which ones?

Good question. I have a couple connections with some solid genre publishers. It makes sense to me that I aim in the sci-fi, fantasy, and/or horror direction. I said my goal with Operation: Awesome was to become a better writer first, sell second, and that still holds. I’m still in Phase Four, certainly, but I see no contradiction in rolling both goals into one action, if I can.

I’m aiming at one publisher in specific. I’ve read through their mission statement, history, and have researched their catalogue. I think some of my ideas are well-suited and am currently looking through them, trying to suss out which is the leader. There’s the one I’m sure I can write, write well even. It’s horror, a genre I’m comfortable with, but I wonder about its marketability. It’s a bit strange. There’s another that is in a genre dear to my heart (near-future sci-fi). It’s a thriller and, frankly, is probably too smart for me. It’d be a great challenge, would be impressive if I could pull it off, but I worry about plotting something so complex. Truth is, I’d probably worry about my ability to pull off a coloring book depending on the day. There’s a trilogy I’m psyched for I originally conceived for the Young Adult market. Could be converted though. It’s near-future again, conspiracy this time. There’s another horror one, a mystery, that like the near-future book is larger in scope than I do normally. But y’know what? I normally don’t write novels so maybe stretching out in all directions is exactly what I need to do.

(The other books are either non-genre or Young Adult- or Middle Grade-focused which is outside the purview of this publisher.)

So, anyway, there it is. The next phase of Operation: Awesome. I’m writing my second novel. My first adult fiction novel which means more swearing and twice as many words as I did on that Little Fears: The Wolf Pact book back in 2007. I don’t have a hard deadline yet. I’m already milling on some for-pay projects and am in the running for another gig I’m really excited for. Fingers crossed, I’ll have a very busy holiday season and into early next year. But this is a commitment I’m making to myself. It’s time to push forward.

The next step in this will be choosing the project. I need to think on that but eventually I’ll need to just pick one and go. Any advice on that? What criteria do you use when picking a project from a stack of potentials? How does one idea rise to the top?

I’m obsessed with age.

I wasn’t always. Throughout my 20s, I rarely felt the pressure of a ticking clock. That’s not to say I didn’t wonder about my future and think about how I was going to be successful and fulfilled creatively but there was certainly some room to move my arms. There’s no airiness now, no space to swivel my hips or turn my head. All I feel is pressure. Late at night, and sometimes during the day, all I feel is failure. There are times I go down bad roads, making a list of folks who became more successful and at younger ages than I am now. Categorized as “better” in the haze of midnight.

Once upon a time, I had a long mental list of those betters. It’s fuzzier now but some names still stick out. Those who sold big novels and achieved critical acclaim young. I’d obsess over folks like Robert E. Howard who created one of the most iconic characters in literature while he was in his 20s. Of course, he killed himself at age 30 so perhaps he’s not the best model to emulate. Then there’s William Gibson, who had written one of the most significant genre novels of all time, as close a thing to Dracula or Frankenstein as the 80s saw. And if he hadn’t already written it by the age I am now, he was certainly working on it.

I see people my own age, here and now, achieving success. Some of them are friends of mine, some are friends of friends, some are simply folks I admire.

Whenever a new name enters my radar, some hot new writer, I can’t help but look them up, see if I’m younger than they are. Sometimes I’m younger. Mostly, I’m not. I look up some of my favorite writers, show creators, musicians, and see how old they were when they broke through. Sometimes I’m younger. Mostly, I’m not.

I have no idea if they, strangers or friends, see themselves as successful. Some are toiling away at media tie-in work and feeling as though they should be writing their own stuff by now. Some have tasted just enough success to see how much they don’t have and are moving the bar ever forward. Some delight in their own success and, hey, why shouldn’t they?

I had my first success at (the tail end of) 24. That was Little Fears, a 3000 print run of a game about kids fighting monsters. It spent some time as the hot new game. It got itself some nominations, caused some controversy, and even managed to sell out. It was a minor hit in a minor field. It was the second book that wore my name, the first being a book of poetry some friends and I published two years prior, but it was the first project that got me out there, got me some recognition and a little bit of status in a creative community.

It did well for me. It changed my life. It opened doors into the other creative worlds which amazes me to this day. It made me a lot of good friends. In fact, pretty much everyone I talk to nowadays was connected to me through the publication of that game. It was the first and only time I felt success.

I know everyone grows differently and for every Christopher Paolini, there’s a Myrrha Stanford-Smith. I also know that I have written, which is the first step, and I’m growing as a writer, which is the second step, and that I’m fortunate enough to have work in my chosen field, which is the third step, working for a company and with a team that I enjoy greatly, which is a miracle. But I struggle with the sense I should have done more. That, at this point in my life, with 34 just over a month away, I should have accomplished more, I should feel more successful.

A big part of Operation: Awesome is navigating through these feelings. If I give myself a list of goals and redirect my behavior, I’ll at least have a plan and hopefully the means to achieve that success. I hope I’m not fooling myself. I hope I’m not a person who will simply kick the ball ten more feet once I get close to it. I don’t know that I can define “success” in any meaningful way or provide definite metrics for achieving it. But I know I have felt it, don’t feel it now, and I know I want to.

A key part of this stems from not being nearly as prolific as I wish I was. This sense of success isn’t just about sales or money, though that’s in there, it’s about wishing I was doing more, writing more. I’m trying to harness this feeling of failure into fuel for success.

(To be clear: I don’t wish to put my own sense of success or failure on anyone. I certainly don’t mean to imply anyone who hasn’t succeeded by 33 is a failure. This is an exploration of my own feelings, nothing more.)

A couple weeks ago, I mapped out the basics of my plan to reprogram myself as a writer. It’s a process I call “Operation: Awesome” because that’s an incredibly uninspired and pretentious title and nothing amuses me more than uninspired and pretentious titles.

I’m bringing it up again because the reprogramming isn’t as simple as following a five step plan. Yes, that plan helps. I’d say the plan has been essential for me even though I’m far from being the A-1 Top Storyteller/Writing Machine that I want to be. This is all a process and I’m in the mix. I’m also fortunate to be in a position where I’m applying what I’m learning and what I’m changing in a real world environment. I’m a working writer in the midst of evolution. I don’t foresee a point where I’ll throw up my arms, declare myself to be fully awesome, drop the mic, and walk off the stage. There isn’t necessarily an end to Operation: Awesome. But there was a beginning.

And it began prior to Step One. It began with conditioning myself. It began with making myself ready to be awesome.
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Earlier this year, I kicked off Operation: Awesome, a multi-phase attempt to reprogram myself as a writer. I had spent far too much of my life under this delusion that the traditional rules of writing and story didn’t apply to me. I thought I could just riff and my stories would work. Most often, I didn’t finish the stories. My initial excitement and momentum ran out before I got the car down the road. A lot of the time, before I’d even left the garage. I didn’t understand how stories worked. I didn’t do the pre-production on my ideas to see if they were actually stories or just ideas or hooks with nowhere to go. I would talk a lot about a story I had when I actually had no such thing. I had a premise, maybe, but most often I had a character or a starting point or a scene. And those are not stories.

After a lifetime of saying I was a writer, I decided to actually do the legwork and become a writer.

I needed to push myself. I needed to learn my process and establish good writing habits. I knew I worked well with an outline (another late discovery). I’m a lazy person by nature with a history of feverishly writing down 1000 words then abandoning the story or jumping from one great idea to another without settling on one and doing the work to get it done. A big part of Operation: Awesome is fixing that. Is fixing myself.

You’ve heard this cliche numerous times: Being creative for money is a business. If you’re rolling your eyes at that, go somewhere else. My intent is to make a living from writing. To do that, I needed to be more than just creative. More than just a guy with good ideas. Everyone else you’re competing against, for an agent, an editor, a publisher, for the audience’s time and money, is creative. They all have good ideas. Being creative and having good ideas just isn’t good enough. You need follow-through. You need discipline.

At least I do. And I didn’t have it. But I was going to get it. I came up with Operation: Awesome and immediately started putting it into motion.

Phase One was learning the craft. For a guy who had spent the past ten years in publishing, in writing and game design, I knew frighteningly little about writing stories. I had the mechanics of writing down (spelling, punctuation, paragraphs) and an ear for dialogue (still my strongest suit) but no concrete idea about construction, payoff, character and story arc.

I studied screenwriting, particularly the late Blake Snyder‘s wonderful Save the Cat! series of books. It’s not a book of theory, it’s a book based of codified observations. Blake’s humorous and insightful approach to story construction was an eye-opener. I put Blake’s ideas into practice in late 2008 with a screenplay I’ve recently entered into competition (wish me luck!). I use his ideas in every story I draft. It’s my first step once an idea has taken shape. It’s my test as to whether an idea is actually a story yet.

Phase Two was laying out what type of writer I wanted to be. If I couldn’t define and sell myself, I couldn’t expect anyone else (agent, editor, publisher, reader) to. I needed to be honest about genre and market. I needed to hone my abilities and direct the other phases of Operation: Awesome toward that genre and market.

I know some writers hate defining themselves or, worse yet, think they defy definition. Yet, the successful authors I know, those who produce and sell, can tell you their market. They may branch out (or wish to) and may struggle to accept it but they know it.

I am aware of my interests and strengths and they are not burdens. They help me focus, help me sell myself, help me be a better writer.

Phase Three is research. As a creative, my life is research. Observation and experience is research. But I had a huge gap in my research process: reading. I read a lot as a kid but hadn’t made the time in recent years to get back to it. My life had leaned more towards games, particularly video games, so I spent my time with them. My reading had suffered.

Once I knew what I wanted to write, I needed to read. Lucky for me, what I like to write and what I like to read are the same thing. (Is this true for other creatives? I do not know.) I’ve been on a reading bender, having finished seven books in the past three weeks, with more waiting.

Phase Four is writing. Without this step, the other three are for naught. And by “writing” I’m not just talking about stringing words together. A big part is pre-production: mapping the beats, growing the characters, writing the outline. All of this is necessary for my process. Without them, stories either don’t get done, get done poorly, or need a lot of back and forth (which I could have prevented if I’d done the pre-production). Once that’s done, I do the writing. I don’t miss writing without an outline. It’s not more romantic, the stories and characters still have plenty of surprises, and I can lean on the pre-production when the muse doesn’t show up to work which means I can finish what I start.

Obviously, I go back through Phases Three and Four. They’re not dead ends or one-ways. Reading is an important part of the writing process. (Yet another old chestnut I ignored at my own peril.) Sure, Phase Five is probably selling books and a series or two but I’m not worried about that yet. My goal is to become a better writer. To become the writer I want to be. Once I’m there, I’ll think about getting published.