Writing while neurodivergent is not for the faint of heart… especially since most of the writing advice out there is not tailored to the way that our brains work.
I’ll use myself as an example. From an ADHD perspective, executive function impairments make task initiation a major struggle, and attention regulation issues make it tough to block out distractions so I can focus on one task for extended periods.
On the autistic side of things, I have to spend extra time and energy regulating my sensory experience before I can even begin writing, and the anxiety around the feedback I’ll eventually receive from editors can trigger RSD (rejection sensitive dysphoria, something many neurodivergent folks struggle with) and lead me into a “freeze” state of paralyzed panic wherein not a single word ends up on the page in front of me.
I realize this sounds like a major drag, and honestly, it can be. But learning about my AuDHD diagnosis has been tremendously helpful in figuring out how to work with my brain instead of against it, particularly when it comes to writing.
So, I’d like to talk about popular writing routines shared by famous authors over the years, why I think they don’t necessarily work for neurodivergent brains, and realistic writing tips that actually work for me as an AuDHD author.
Famous writing advice that doesn’t work for me
1. Write every day
Stephen King is known for his disciplined routine of writing every day (including holidays).
Toni Morrison woke around 4 a.m. to write each day, finding the quiet of the early morning before her children woke up conducive to her creative practice.
Haruki Murakami also adheres to a strict writing schedule, aiming to write for five hours every day without exception.
Why it’s hard
This one’s tough for ADHD brains in particular because, as clinical psychologist Sharon Saline put it, “ADHD brains enjoy novelty and spontaneity, the archnemeses of routine. The consistency and stability of a routine can transform the task of sticking to that routine into a monotonous, unsatisfying chore.”
2. Set a word count
Elizabeth Gilbert strives to write at least 1,000 words per day when working on a novel, emphasizing the importance of showing up to the page regularly and making steady progress.
Hemingway famously set a goal of writing 500 words per day—and would often stop writing when he reached his daily word count.
Maya Angelou also took a disciplined approach to writing, setting a goal of 2,000 words per day. She often wrote in the morning and early afternoon, aiming to achieve her word count goal before the end of the day.
Why it’s hard
Setting a word count means you either achieve it or you don’t—sounds a little perfectionist, don’t you think?
“Putting undue pressure on yourself to create the ‘perfect’ routine is by far the most common reason routines fail,” Saline noted. “You may beat yourself up and frame your ‘failure’ with negative self-talk (e.g., ‘I’m a loser, I’ll never get this right).” And at that point, an ADHD brain is more likely to abandon a task than to figure out an alternate way to approach it.
3. Write longhand
Joyce Carol Oates prefers to write her first drafts longhand, mentioning in interviews that she finds the process more intimate and tactile than typing on a computer.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote on yellow legal pads, often starting with a specific image or scene that he wanted to explore in his writing that day.
Neil Gaiman has historically written his first drafts using a fountain pen, finding that writing by hand helped him to slow down and focus on the story.
Why it’s hard
The tactile sensations associated with writing longhand (the texture of the paper, pressure exerted by the pen or pencil, the sounds of writing) can be overwhelming for autistic folks with sensory sensitivities. Executive function challenges can also make it difficult to organize our thoughts and ideas cohesively when writing longhand, ultimately leading to disorganized and fragmented written expression on paper that might make more sense digitally.
Realistic writing tips that actually work for my neurodivergent brain
1. Create a sensory-friendly environment
Designating a comfortable writing space for my specific sensory needs has been crucial for maintaining a sustainable writing practice.
I silence all notifications so I’m not distracted by my phone lighting up every few minutes while I’m trying to write. I have a giant comfy office chair with room to sit cross-legged or in whatever other positions I fidget myself into while I’m hyperfocused. I wear my noise-canceling headphones and listen to instrumental music to block out distractions. I have an aromatherapy diffuser with a “focus” essential oil blend (orange, peppermint, and frankincense) going. And before I begin, I make sure I have three beverages at hand—typically coffee, water, and green juice—so I don’t need to interrupt my flow state when I inevitably find myself getting thirsty.
2. Take advantage of special interests
This one’s not always possible, admittedly, but I find that writing about topics that genuinely interest and excite me is really the only way to sustain my motivation and engagement.
I have to really care about whatever I’m writing in order to keep doing it—which is why writing a book about LGBTQ+ travel is the perfect fit for me. The conversations I have with other queer travelers invigorate and inspire me to keep moving forward with this project because I know how much this book is going to mean to the LGBTQ+ community once it’s published.
3. Use timers and visual aids
Aside from my usual color-coded Google Calendar (I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t know to menstruate unless that thing told me it was time to do it), I depend on thorough to-do lists in a project management system (my favorite is Asana) to stay on track with my writing projects.
I’m not sure I could get anything done or remind myself to stop writing for a few minutes so I can breathe/stretch/eat something/go to the bathroom/do other normal human things without the help of a visual timer. It’s useful for time management, but also for transitioning from one task to another, which can be a struggle for writers and neurodivergent folks alike. But perhaps most importantly, it makes diving into work in the first place less daunting, because I know that if after an hour when the alarm goes off I’m feeling drained, I can stop.
4. Celebrate small achievements
What do ADHDers chase? Dopamine. And what do we get a rush of when we complete a task and receive a reward for completing that task? Dopamine.
Waiting until an entire project is complete to reward myself just won’t work for my brain. Instead, I need to reward myself by celebrating all the small achievements along the way that make completing the project possible in the end.
So each week, I take a look at what’s on my to-do list and split it into sections with different “checkpoints,” then come up with rewards to give myself at each of those checkpoints.
For instance, if my to-do list looks like:
Interview a traveler for an upcoming chapter of my book
Review the transcript from the interview and pull quotes for their chapter
Write the chapter draft, incorporating their quotes
Send the chapter draft and the interviewee’s photos to my editor
I’d insert a checkpoint after this chunk of tasks on my to-do list to consider the initial work for that chapter complete. Then once I got to that checkpoint, I’d reward myself with an iced coffee from the cafe across the street and a walk through the park.
Other rewards that have worked well for me throughout this process:
A cup of tea
Snuggling my dog
A hot bath with all my favorite bath products
My favorite take-out order
An hour of trash TV
Starting a new book I’ve been excited about
A round of Wordle or Words With Friends
Really good chocolate
5. Embrace flexibility
I used to get so frustrated with myself for not being able to stick to whatever routines I’d painstakingly planned out for myself. Not even just when it came to writing, but also exercising, meal prepping, practicing yoga, staying in regular contact with loved ones… all of these things that I so badly wanted to do consistently but just couldn’t.
I’d beat myself up about why I couldn’t just freaking do it like everyone else seemed to be able to, or why I could do it sometimes but not others. I’d pressure myself beyond my limits to get things done until I burnt out and couldn’t get anything done. Then I’d feel shitty all over again, push myself to get things done even when I didn’t have the capacity to, and around and around we’d go. It was draining and awful and I couldn’t seem to help myself.
But over time (and through lots of therapy!), I’ve started learning to give myself the grace and wiggle room to do things at my own pace and in my own way.
When my brain or body begin to dig in their heels and have a temper tantrum when I try to start a task, instead of forcing myself to stop whining and just do it anyway, I pause and try to understand why. Do I need more sleep? Have I eaten, exercised, drank enough water? Or is the issue more mental—do I need to drum up some more dopamine in order to motivate myself to complete a task I’m not looking forward to?
Nowadays, if I can’t get myself to start a task that I’ve been dreading, I start with one I’ve been looking forward to instead. Then after that, the dopamine rush I get from checking that off of my list helps motivate me to complete the task I wasn’t looking forward to, but now actually have the energy to take on. I might not have gotten it done first thing in the morning like I’d imagined, but hey, getting it done in the afternoon is better than not at all.
Throwing it back to our girl Sharon Saline: “Accept your need to switch things up! Don’t fight it.” Work with your neurodivergent brain, not against it, and watch how your life (and writing routine) can change.
Any other advice for neurodivergent writers?
This is what’s worked for me, but if you’re a writer who falls under the umbrella of neurodivergence, I’d love to learn what has worked well for you when it comes to creating a sustainable writing practice.