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This might not sound like writing advice. It is.
The world feels like it’s falling apart. You’re not imagining it. For those of us alive right now, this is hard. “Unprecedented” may be overused, but for us—for our nervous systems—this is unprecedented.
Yes, the world has seen worse. But that doesn’t make this easy.
So if you’re struggling, I get it. I see you. I hear you. I’m in the same boat.
Right now I have:
- A physical therapist for the physical symptoms.
- A therapist for the emotional ones.
- And a little container of anti-anxiety meds I try not to take—but absolutely do when I need them.
It’s been one of those years.
What’s helped me, and what I hope might help you, is this:
Lower the bar.
I say this as someone who, a few years ago, completed a 13½-hour physical crucible coached by retired Navy SEALs. Incredible experience. Highly recommended. It changed my perspective on life.
But that was five years ago.
I’m older now. My metrics have changed. And honestly? My nervous system is fried. I’m willing to bet yours is too.
What a “Win” Looks Like
I’m lucky to live near walking trails. Most days, I throw on a 20-pound backpack and walk hills for 40–45 minutes. It’s called rucking.
About halfway through, I say out loud:
“If this is all you get done today, that’s a win.”
Even if I go home and watch Gilmore Girls reruns the rest of the day—getting up, strapping on 20 pounds, and climbing hills for 40 minutes is a win.
And I take it.
Usually, that’s not the only win.
I’ll come home and make breakfast:
- Scrambled eggs with sautéed kale or red cabbage
- Salt, butter, avocado
- Turmeric, black pepper, red pepper, a little Tabasco
- Blueberries with ground golden flaxseed and cinnamon
- Sugar-free oat milk and decaf coffee
That’s a damn good breakfast. If my day ends there? Still a win.
Then I might go to my office and work on my novel.
This novel I’m working on right now has been kicking my ass. We’ll unpack that another time. But if I write 250 words—one double-spaced page—that’s a win.
If I stop there?
Three wins for the day.
That’s not nothing.
Change Your Metrics
We’re trying to create while the world feels apocalyptic. That’s not normal. So why are we holding ourselves to normal-season metrics?
Goals matter. I believe that deeply. But your goals need to be kind to your nervous system.
In a strong season, I can write:
- 1,000 words
- 2,000 words
- Even 5,000-word days
Right now?
My goal is one solid page.
If I exceed it? Amazing. If not? Still a win.
Because “5,000 words or you’re a failure” doesn’t motivate me right now. It crushes me. It crushes my spirit and my nervous system.
So I set goals that are attainable and humane. Goals that are KIND to myself.
For some of you, a win might be:
- Getting out of bed.
- Going outside.
- Checking the mail.
That counts.
Real Life Intrudes (You Can’t Silo It)
Again, this might not sound like writing advice. It is.
Writers often pretend we can silo our lives from our creative work. We can’t.
Have a bad day at your (even good) job? Try writing afterward.
Have tension with your partner, your kids, your parents? Try creating after that.
It’s harder. Of course it is.
You’re not a writer only during “writing hours.” You’re a creator 24/7. Real life intrudes. Doomscrolling intrudes. News intrudes. Stress intrudes.
When I doomscroll (and I do), that stuff gets into my brain and bloodstream. It robs me of the work.
So one of my goals is:
Don’t go on social media.
Yes, you might be reading this on social media. But I use schedulers whenever possible so I don’t have to log in. If I go a full day without scrolling?
That’s a win.
And I give myself full credit.
Stack the Wins
Here’s the core idea:
- Lower the bar to something humane.
- Define what a real win looks like for you TODAY.
- When you hit it, give yourself full credit.
- Stack those wins.
Stacked wins stabilize your nervous system. They build momentum. They remind you that you’re not powerless.
This season isn’t about domination. It’s about sustainability.
Your Work Still Matters
Let me say something clearly:
Your story matters.
Your words matter.
Your art matters.
Someone out there needs your work.
And even if no one else did—you need it.
The work probably brings you peace, or meaning, or a sense of agency. That alone makes it worth doing.
We’ll talk about money. We’ll talk about professional strategy. We’ll talk about publishing mechanics.
But right now?
Just do the work.
Lower the bar.
Stack the wins.
Protect your nervous system.
Create anyway.
May you be happy.
May you be well.
May you be safe.
May you be peaceful and at ease.
And if you need to rant? The comments are open at facebook.com/fictionmentor.