Before I started publishing fiction professionally, my background was in theatre.
And in theatre, there’s this tool—idea—called “given circumstances.”
The given circumstances are the facts around a character that they cannot escape. Hamlet is the prince of Denmark. That’s baked into the story. Hamlet’s father was killed by Hamlet’s uncle. Also baked in.
You can interpret the role a thousand different ways. You can block the show differently. Design it differently. Perform it differently. But you cannot change the given circumstances.
This is also true in real life. You and I have given circumstances.
Things about our lives we can’t change. (Or, to be more precise, there are things we could change, but we probably wouldn’t like the consequences.)
We come into the world with stuff we have to deal with. Every day adds new triumphs, trials, problems, opportunities, weird little fires to put out.
Those are our given circumstances.
We still have control over how we work within them.
One of my given circumstances is how my brain works.
I tend to have pretty high emotional highs and pretty low emotional lows. I can track them. I can feel them.
“Oh. This is an up day.” “Oh. This is a down day.”
And for decades, I fought that.
I kept trying to force myself into some perfect writer-machine system:
Pick one project!
Finish it!
Don’t touch anything else!
Be disciplined!
Grind!
Discipline matters, yes. A regular writing schedule matters. I recommend both.
But I’ve also had to accept that system does not always work with my given circumstances.
My brain is usually carrying three stories at once. Sometimes ten. That used to feel like a flaw. Like something I had to beat out of myself.
Now I’m asking a better question: How do I work with this instead of constantly fighting it?
Recently, I got an editorial letter back on a very important book.
It’s not a revision. It’s a rewrite. A full, page-one/line-one rewrite.
Okay. Fine. That’s the job.
But at the same time, I’ve also been waking up at 4:30 in the morning, doing strength training (because I’m old) and then writing for an hour.
The rule is simple:
No email.
No social media.
No phone.
No web surfing.
Open the laptop. Open the document. Sit there. Even if nothing happens, sit there.
And that one rule has helped me get a lot of writing done.
Forward motion.
Because for me, that sacred hour has to stay open enough that my brain will actually show up for it.
That might not be your solution.
That’s the point. Your job is not to copy my schedule. Your job is to understand your own given circumstances.
Have a conversation with your brain. Figure out how it actually works. Then build a writing life around that reality instead of some fantasy version of yourself who never gets tired, never gets scared, never gets distracted, and never has a down day.
Work with yourself.
Keep writing.