‘Write Daily’ Is Crappy Advice in 2025

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“Write every day” is the most regurgitated piece of writing advice on the planet. It’s also mostly bullshit.

Look, I get it—consistency matters.

But somewhere between Stephen King’s famous “write 2,000 words daily or else” dictum and the Instagram hustle-p*rn influencers telling you to “rise and grind” at 4:30 AM, we’ve turned writing into this masochistic religion where daily suffering equals legitimacy.

Here’s what nobody tells you; forcing yourself to write when you have nothing to say is like forcing yourself to shit when nothing’s ready to come out.

You’ll sit there straining, sweating, and eventually produce something, but it’s going to be painful and probably crap.

The truly dangerous part isn’t just wasting your time — it’s that you start to hate the very thing you once loved. Your laptop becomes a torture device. The blank page becomes your enemy.

And for what? So you can brag about your unbroken writing streak to people who don’t actually care?

Let me offer a different perspective: maybe the best thing you can do for your writing isn’t to do more of it, but to reconsider your entire approach to it.

Ain’t nobody got time for that

Life in 2025 is a perpetual clusterfuck of demands.

Between the AI-powered everything constantly begging for attention, the economic uncertainty that has us all working multiple hustles just to afford basic necessities, and the low-grade apocalyptic dread simmering in the background — who the hell has time to write every single day?

The “make time” argument is peak privilege masquerading as motivation.

It assumes everyone has the same 24 hours, the same energy levels, the same lack of responsibilities, and the same brain chemistry.

It’s the productivity equivalent of “let them eat cake.”

The math doesn’t matह.

If you’re working 40+ hours a week, commuting, maintaining relationships, trying to stay somewhat healthy, and occasionally sleeping — the idea that you must also carve out daily writing time or be considered “uncommitted” is absurd.

What nobody mentions is how this pressure creates a toxic relationship with creativity.

You start resenting your writing because it becomes another obligation, another box to check, another thing you’re failing at when life inevitably interrupts your perfect streak. And nothing kills creativity faster than resentment.

The irony? Many professional writers don’t even write daily. They work in bursts, with fallow periods in between.

But somehow, this reality never makes it into the inspirational writing quotes.

How ‘write daily’ backfired on me

I once became a write-daily zealot. Alarm set for 5:30 AM. Expensive notebook purchased.

Goal: 1,000 words daily, no exceptions.

Week one: I was unstoppable. Smugly sipping coffee while typing, certain I’d cracked the productivity code that separates successful writers from wannabes.

Week three: My alarm caused physical nausea. I’d sit at my desk, fingers frozen over keys, my mind a wasteland of half-formed thoughts and mounting anxiety.

But quitting wasn’t an option because consistency is everything, right?

So I kept going, producing increasingly terrible content while developing an almost Pavlovian response to my laptop: see computer, feel dread.

The breaking point came when I realized I was just manufacturing content like a factory produces plastic sporks — functional but utterly forgettable.

I wasn’t writing; I was typing. There’s a crucial difference.

So I stopped. Cold turkey.

The first few days, I felt like a failure. Then something unexpected happened: I started missing writing. Not the forced daily grind, but the actual joy of expression.

When I returned to it — on my own terms — I wrote because I had something to say, not because my productivity system demanded it.

My output decreased. My quality skyrocketed. And more importantly, I rediscovered why I wanted to write in the first place.

Why quality trumps quantity

What if writing less but better is actually the path to becoming a better writer?

When we’re chained to daily output, we prioritize word count over insight.

We fill pages with sophisticated-sounding nonsense that looks substantial but provides zero intellectual nourishment. It’s literary empty calories.

Consider history’s most impactful writing. Did Martin Luther King Jr. write “Letter from Birmingham Jail” as part of a daily writing habit?

Did Mary Shelley create “Frankenstein” because she needed to hit her daily word count?

Fuck no.

These works emerged from necessity — from having something vital to express — not from adherence to arbitrary productivity metrics.

Meaningful writing requires mental space — room for ideas to collide and mature.

When we’re constantly in output mode, we deprive ourselves of the crucial input phase. We don’t give ourselves time to observe, reflect, and make unexpected connections.

In other words, we don’t give ourselves time to actually have something worth saying.

In our content-saturated world, the last thing we need is more half-baked articles created just to maintain a streak.

What we desperately need is thoughtful content that respects the reader’s intelligence by offering genuine insight. And that rarely happens on a convenient daily schedule.

It’s not one size fits all

Context is everything.

The “write daily” commandment assumes a universal experience of creativity that simply doesn’t exist.

Some people do their best work in short, frequent bursts. Others need long, uninterrupted blocks to produce anything worthwhile.

Some writers thrive on routine; others find it creatively suffocating.

Even your own optimal process changes dramatically over time.

What worked during your twenties might be completely ineffective in your thirties. What’s productive during stability might be impossible during personal turmoil.

The most damaging aspect of this dogma is how it pathologizes different work styles.

If you naturally work in intense bursts followed by fallow periods — a pattern common among creative professionals — you’re made to feel defective.

You’re labeled undisciplined when you’re simply following your natural creative rhythm.

The truly disciplined approach isn’t forcing yourself into someone else’s productivity template — it’s having the self-awareness to discover your optimal conditions for creation and the courage to honor them.

That’s it, believe it.

I’m not advocating for waiting around like some beret-wearing poet for “inspiration” to strike. Structure matters. Commitment matters.

What I am saying is that blindly following prescriptive writing advice without questioning whether it serves your specific circumstances is a recipe for frustration and mediocrity.

Instead of obsessing over writing every day, focus on creating conditions where writing becomes possible and enjoyable.

Maybe that means two full days a week rather than one hour daily.

Maybe it means dictating ideas while walking rather than sitting at a keyboard.

Maybe it means alternating between intensive writing and extensive reading or living.

The most valuable approach isn’t adherence to universal rules — it’s developing self-knowledge.

Understanding when you’re most creative, what environments support your best work, and how much structure you personally need.

This self-awareness doesn’t come from following someone else’s system; it comes from experimentation and honesty about what’s actually working for you.

So throw out the “write daily” rule if it’s not serving you. Replace it with a commitment to discovering your own creative process, however unconventional.

Because ultimately, the only writing advice that matters is what helps you produce work you’re proud of — work that says something meaningful in a way only you can say it.

And if anyone gives you shit about not writing every day, just send them this article. Or don’t. I don’t give a fuck, and maybe you shouldn’t either.

Question of the week:

What's one piece of "must-follow" advice in your field that you think is actually bullshit? Reply to this email – I read everything (eventually).

Until next week,

Zohvib

PS. If you’d like some personal coaching on your writing. I might be able to help.

Click here.