How My Dad Taught Me to Write

My dad was up by 5:30 every morning.

Not because he loved mornings. Not because some productivity guru told him to optimize his circadian rhythms. Because he had work to do.

He'd be out in his woodshop making something before most people hit snooze. Then shower, coffee, breakfast, and off to his shift at the paper mill. Eight to twelve hours of real work.

By the time I was 21, I was doing the same thing in the Air Force. Up at 5:30 to hit the field for PT, then shower, coffee, breakfast, and twelve hours of making sure the most powerful air force in the world could do its job.

Two things drove both of us: self-discipline and routine.

I know those words make people groan. They sound like punishment. Like the fun police showed up to ruin your creative process.

But here's what I learned after years of trying to write "when inspiration strikes" and failing miserably: discipline and routine aren't creativity killers. They're creativity enablers.

Why Self-Discipline Gets a Bad Rap

Most people think self-discipline means denying yourself things you want.

That's backwards.

Self-discipline is choosing what you want most over what you want right now. It's not about being miserable. It's about being intentional.

When I write every morning, I'm not punishing myself. I'm choosing the satisfaction of finishing something over the temporary comfort of staying in bed. I'm choosing the long-term goal over the short-term impulse.

The weird thing? Once you make that choice consistently, it stops feeling like a choice. It just becomes what you do.

Routine Isn't Boring (It's Freedom)

People hear "routine" and think "prison schedule."

Wrong again.

Routine is the opposite of restriction. It's the thing that frees you from having to make the same decisions over and over.

My writing routine is simple: Same time, same place, same setup. Coffee ready, phone in another room, document open.

I don't waste mental energy deciding when to write or where to sit or whether I feel like it. I just show up and work. The decisions are already made.

Your routine doesn't have to look like mine. Night owl? Write at night. Can only manage fifteen minutes? Write for fifteen minutes. The magic isn't in the specific schedule. It's in having one.

How They Work Together

Self-discipline gets you started. Routine keeps you going.

Here's what happens when you combine them:

Procrastination shrinks. When you have a specific time to write, "later" has an actual meaning. It's not someday. It's 7 PM today.

Big projects feel manageable. That book you want to write? It's just today's 300 words, repeated. Mountains become daily steps up a hill.

Your brain cooperates. Show up at the same time enough days in a row, and your mind starts preparing before you sit down. Ideas surface during your morning coffee. Solutions appear in the shower.

You actually improve. Consistency beats intensity. Writing badly every day beats writing brilliantly once a month.

Making It Real

Start stupid small. I mean embarrassingly small.

Don't commit to writing a novel. Commit to opening a document.

Don't promise yourself an hour. Promise yourself ten minutes.

The goal isn't to impress yourself with your ambition. It's to build a habit you can actually maintain when life gets messy. And life always gets messy.

Pick a time that already exists in your schedule. Before work, during lunch, after dinner. Don't try to create new time. Use time you already have.

Set up everything in advance. Know where you'll sit, what you'll write with, what you'll work on. Remove every possible excuse your brain will manufacture at 6 AM.

Track it. Put an X on a calendar. Start a streak. Simple systems work because they show progress visually.

When You Miss a Day

You will miss days. Your routine will break. Your discipline will crack.

This isn't failure. It's life.

The difference between people who write and people who used to write isn't perfect consistency. It's getting back to it after the break.

My dad didn't quit his job because he called in sick once. I didn't stop exercising in the military because I had a bad PT day.

The routine exists to be returned to, not to be perfect.

The Real Payoff

After a few months of showing up consistently, something shifts.

Writing stops being something you have to do and becomes something you get to do. The resistance fades. The excuses quiet down.

You start thinking of yourself as someone who writes. Not someone trying to write. Someone who writes.

That identity change is everything. It's the difference between forcing yourself to work and protecting your work time.

My dad never questioned whether he'd go to work. I never questioned whether I'd show up for duty.

Now I never question whether I'll write. It's just what I do.

Try this: Pick one tiny writing habit you can do tomorrow. Same time, same place. Do it for seven days straight. See what happens.

The work teaches you everything else.

Thanks for reading!

Hi, I'm Joe. I help creators share their unique voices simply and effectively. Here's how I can help you:

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