“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” — Maya Angelou
You want to write a novel. A beautiful, fictional something that’s been living in your mind like a houseguest who refuses to leave. It shows up during meetings, while folding laundry, and occasionally when you’re trying to fall asleep.
But finding time to write it? That feels about as realistic as taking a year off to “just write in Tuscany.” (If you’ve figured out how to do this, please invite me. I'll bring snacks.)
Here’s the real talk: You don’t need long stretches of uninterrupted time. You don’t need to write every day. You don’t have to be a morning person (though I became one out of pure necessity). You don't even need a timer. What you do need is a little structure—and a little willingness to write in the cracks of your life.
Writing Wherever, Whenever
Write in the morning, if that feels good. Write late at night, if that’s when your brain gets deliciously weird. Write in waiting rooms, on trains, while your pasta water boils.
“A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.” — E.B. White
There’s no single “right time” to write—only the time that works for you. The world is chaotic. Your novel doesn’t have to be.
For a long time, I thought I wasn’t a morning person. I used to wear that “B-person” identity like a cozy badge. But eventually, I realized the only truly quiet time I could claim for myself was early morning. So, I started setting the alarm—painfully early—and carving out time to write before the day officially began.
At first, it felt unnatural (and let’s be honest, I was more than a little grumpy). But then something shifted: I began to look forward to that window. I’d sit down, still wrapped in sleep, and dive into my story before the noise of the day took over. Nothing had clouded my thoughts yet. The world hadn't rushed in. And by the time I started work, I felt energized—like I’d already done the most important thing that day.
That early writing time didn’t just help me make progress on my novel. It changed my relationship with writing—and with time itself.
A Little Planning Goes a Long Way
Now, I know this might sound contradictory, but even though I just told you to be flexible about when and where you write, I do recommend having some kind of plan.
Not a 10-page outline carved in stone. Not color-coded index cards (unless that sparks joy). I’m talking about clarity. Direction. Knowing what your story is about, so you’re not constantly trying to rediscover it every time you open your laptop or notebook. Knowing why you're you're writing, so you have a place to go when the writing feels hard.
One of the best tools I’ve found for this is Jennie Nash’s “Blueprint for a Book.” It’s smart, approachable, and breaks your story down into meaningful questions, like what your protagonist wants vs. what they need, or what the central change in your novel actually is.
It’s not rigid. It’s not overwhelming. It’s more like a compass than a GPS.
Think of it as your story’s foundation. With a solid blueprint, you can build your novel in short, stolen bursts without feeling like you’re wandering in the dark.
Your Routine = Your Rules
Write at your desk. Or on your phone. Or into a voice memo while walking the dog. (Dictating plot twists while surrounded by squirrels adds an unpredictable flair.)
How other writers made it work:
Toni Morrison wrote after her kids went to bed.
Murakami gets up insanely early (4 a.m.), writes, read and listen to music, and runs—every day.
Agatha Christie plotted her books while doing chores (and supposedly while bathing).
No two writers work the same way. You’re not looking for the “best” routine—you’re building yours.
When You Sit Down: Know What’s Next
Whether you’re writing once a week or three times a day, leave yourself a note at the end of each session. Just a sentence or two. Enough to keep the momentum:
“Next: She finds the letter.”
“Add conflict with mom here.”
“This scene = emotional chaos + champagne.”
Trust me, Future You will thank Present You for the breadcrumbs.
Progress, Not Perfection
Your first draft will be messy. Weird. Possibly a little embarrassing. That’s fine. That's its job.
“Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts.” — Anne Lamott
The goal isn’t brilliance. The goal is motion. Your story reveals itself as you go. And with a light plan (hello again, Blueprint), you’re less likely to get lost along the way.
Final Thought: Your Story Is Worth the Time
Writing isn’t just another thing on your to-do list. It’s an act of attention. A declaration that your dream matters. That your inner creative life deserves space, even in a packed, full calendar.
So, whether you write in a café, a parked car, or a corner of your kitchen table, know this: You’re not “finding” time. You’re making space for what matters. And that novel you dream of writing? It’s not a luxury. It’s a beginning.
Resources Mentioned:
Blueprint for a Book by Jennie Nash
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
Atomic Habits by James Clear
Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
Want Help Getting Started?
If you're thinking, "Okay, I want to write—and I think I now know how to make time for it, but where do I actually begin?"—you’re in exactly the right place.
The leap from idea to novel can feel big. That’s why I always recommend starting with a bit of structure.
Before diving into your draft, I encourage writers to complete Jennie Nash’s Blueprint for a Book—a thoughtful, comprehensive framework for building your story from the inside out. It helps you understand what your novel is really about before you write 50,000 words and start wondering what went wrong.
But if that feels like too much right now, there’s a gentler way to begin: the Mini Blueprint—also created by Jennie Nash. It’s a streamlined version of the full blueprint that helps you test and shape your idea without getting overwhelmed.
I include the Mini Blueprint as part of my Mini Blueprint Feedback service. You'll get access to the template, fill it out the best you can, and I'll then provide written feedback. After you've digested my comments, we'll meet for a 30-minute coaching call to talk through the feedback and make sure you feel confident in your idea and know what to do next. (Many book coaches use it—it’s that good.)
This is the first step in turning “I want to write a novel” into “I’m writing one—and it makes sense.”
You don’t need a perfect outline to begin. But a little clarity? It makes all the difference.
Where do you see yourself writing your novel—if time, dignity, and toast crumbs weren’t an issue?
At the kitchen counter with a cold cup of coffee? On a park bench, channeling deep thoughts while squirrels stare you down? At an airport bar, pretending your protagonist just got dumped at Gate 47?
Tell me in the comments—I’d love to hear your plan for making space for your writing (or how you actually pull it off).
And if this gave you a nudge or a chuckle, subscribe or share it with someone whose novel is still hiding in the “someday” folder.
Love this valuable reminder that, with a little structure and a certified book coach as your guide, there's no stopping even the busiest of writers!