Hey everyone,
How fast could a fast writer write, if a fast writer could write faster?
Tongue-twisting theatrics aside, the question is a relevant one:
How fast can a fast writer actually write?
To answer that question, we must define what we mean by writing fast.
Most writers, on average, can put 1,000 words on the page in an hour. On bad days, that number can be lower; on good days, higher. Some writers can routinely put in more words in an average hour—they’re our speed writers. Some writers, especially those still at the early stages of their careers or who haven’t put in much practice, average 500 words an hour. Those are our slower writers.
Still, no matter how fast a writer can type, there is a cap on how much of it they can do in an hour, and that usually maxes out at 2,500 words and is often not sustainable over a period of several hours. Also, no matter how slow a writer is, it’s near impossible to write fewer than 100-200 words unless you’re simply not trying or don’t know what you’re trying to say.
There is a difference between writing fast and typing fast. If we assume then that the average writer is writing 1,000 words in an hour, give or take bad days, skill levels, and difficulty of work, authors who write books “fast” are typically just spending more hours planting their asses in the chair.
Want to write fast? Give your ass more chair time.
As we’ve discussed before, that doesn’t mean you sit there for four hours willing the words to come out. That means, simply, setting up enough 15-minute writing sessions in your day where you’re sprinting and making it count.
I don’t need to tell you the benefits of more time spent practicing your craft. Malcolm Gladwell, in his book Outliers, notes that musicians who put in more practice hours have more success than those who play far less. It’s the same in all other arts, including writing, sports, and even politics. It is a well-known fact that both Bill Clinton and Barack Obama spent more time on the campaign trail in their first successful Presidential bids than any of their opponents. And athletes who train more get better results.
What allows the pros to really shine in the moments when it counts—the final goal, the big book deal, the interview with Oprah—is all the work and the practice that goes before it, which allows them to reach a comfort level of knowing they can knock it out of the park when it truly matters.
All the words you’re not writing now are lost opportunities to understand what makes a sentence, a paragraph or a chapter work, to know what readers respond to, and to develop the fluency and shorthand that allows you to do it better, and yes… faster.
There it is, the speed again.
Because if you’ve done it thirty times before, you need to think less, apply less effort, and spend far less time re-doing what you got wrong. You get less wrong because a large part of what you’re doing becomes instinctive.
That speed doesn’t come from short-term tactics and strategies. It comes from planting that ass in the chair, as many times as you can, as many days as you can, for months and years on end. Even when it doesn’t work, even when it doesn’t sell, even when all you can do is throw it away.
Because words, even when they don’t work, serve a purpose.
They lead you to what does.
You do it until it becomes natural. You do it until it becomes effortless. You do it until it becomes routine.
Natural, effortless, and routine inevitably create speed.
“Arse in the Chair” is a metric I actually measure (sitting down to write doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, don’t you think?) I make a note of the days my arse hit the chair and I make a note of how many times a day it did so.
Streaks, sprints, and sessions are at the core of how I now do my writing.
It’s led to easy and consistent 3,000-word days on the days that I write.
This year, my goal is to put 1 million words on the page (that comes out to 2,750 words per day on average). I couldn’t even dream of doing that if I don’t have the habit of Arse in the Chair coupled with short sprints that allow me to live the rest of my life while I do this.
I want every single writer reading this to enjoy the process of bringing their creations into the world, to have fun building this life they’ve dreamt of for so long, and to have each book and article they write be a joyful and not a miserable, process.
It all starts with planting that arse on the chair and writing.
Make sure you’re writing.
Cheers,
Natasha