How to be a Consistent Writer with ADHD
Being a writer is challenging work. Being a writer with ADHD can be downright exasperating.
If the rejection sensitivity wasn’t enough, I’m often battling my habits and routines, and no matter how many times I read Atomic Habits by James Clear or other advice often meant for neurotypical brains, it never seems enough.
Consistency? We don’t know her.
Well, that’s not entirely true–there are some things where routine comes easily, like the 931-day reading streak I have on Storygraph.
Chalk that up to the fact that the reading streak counter gamifies a habit that is always novel (pun intended), that I read books that are intensely interesting and challenging to me (often horror, sci-fi, thrillers, poetry, some nonfiction, and graphic novels), and that it is a habit that I’ve found accommodations that work for me, such as audiobooks. I’ve reduced friction by finding places in my schedule to incorporate reading easily without thinking, such as reading printed-book poetry over morning coffee or ebooks before bed. Because of audiobooks, I’m now reading whenever I brush my teeth, on my commute, when I’m scrubbing toilets, or when I’m darning my socks. Because the majority of the books I read are through Libby, an app that connects to your library card and provides access to thousands of audiobooks, ebooks, magazines, and more, there is a time limit to finish books, which creates a sense of urgency.
For those with ADHD, we aren’t usually motivated by what’s important, or by rewards, or by potential consequences. We need the magic that comes from things that are novel, interesting, challenging, or urgent. So it’s no wonder that I’ve managed to make a reading habit stick for me.
In terms of writing, we often hear advice to write daily. This may work for some people, and though I journal daily, I don’t write creatively every day. Knowing that my brain needs specific encouragement to stick to routines, there are things I do that help me to routinely work on my craft. These things often build in deadlines (when my self-imposed deadlines aren’t enough), provide a sense of newness, challenge me, and are something I find interesting.
Write what’s intriguing to you. (Not necessarily what you know.)
Perform at open mics. Performing can be a way to test something you’re working on, to build community, to edit out loud by noting things that may work really well or not at all, and to give you a sweet, sweet deadline.
Be part of a writing group. This can help you learn to give and receive feedback, to engage with your community, to strengthen your work, and to work towards a deadline that affects more than just yourself.
Attend writing dates with friends. Body doubling can be a very helpful way to do the things you want and need to do. Plus, you can strengthen friendships, bounce ideas off of each other, and celebrate your progress in short coffee shop sessions or longer day-long “stay-retreats”.
Attend writing workshops of all genres. Skills are often transferable, and you’d be surprised to learn how a romance writer approaches character development and what that can do to create tension in your poetry. I often leave workshops with a starting draft of a new piece or a solid idea of something I’d like to explore.
Participate in other writing or performance events. Support writers at their book launches, check out a reading, listen to a panel of authors discuss compelling topics, attend a Zoom webinar lecture, observe artists in conversation with each other, or any of the other myriad ways you can be inspired, gain insights, and be challenged by your community.
Teach. When I facilitate spoken word workshops for youth or create generative writing sessions for my peers, I am reminded of the things I want to know through research.
Publish. I am still learning about publishing. The aforementioned rejection sensitivity has held me back from submitting my work to magazines and journals, but I’ve learned that rejection is a necessary part of the journey and that rejection doesn’t always mean that the work isn’t good; it usually means that it’s not a good fit at the moment. Having experience as an arts administrator teaches me that there are a plethora of talented writers, and often there are very limited spots to publish their work or to hire them for a gig. You never know who your competition is, and so it’s always worth putting your name and work out there.
Write for myself. I remind myself that writing is something that gives me joy, and the act of writing for myself can be enough. In the late 90s and early 00s, our family computer wasn’t connected to the internet, and while my pals were downloading music from Limewire, I was drafting short stories and poems that I’d store on floppy discs for myself. These laid the groundwork for my work today.
The above practices aren’t exhaustive, but they help me find a sense of consistency with my craft–even when I struggle with consistency in other areas of my life. What would you add to this list that works for you?
Establish the tricks to your success. For me and other neurodivergent pals, it’s looking at how I can make writing new, interesting, challenging, and urgent. My approach is a work in progress, and my routines this year are different from my routines last year. They’re ever changing, but for me, that’s what works.
