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In my friend Anne Gisleson and I decided to write a thousand words a day, every day, for two weeks straight. We were enjoying a glass of wine early on a spring evening, talking about our work. Anne is a high school teacher and a writer who had recently published her first book, a memoir titled The Futilitarians: Our Year of Thinking, Drinking, Grieving, and Reading Little, Brown, , and she was trying to finish a new nonfiction proposal.
She also has two children and was closing in on the end of another school year, with all the pressures and challenges that went along with it. I had my seventh book in thirteen years to complete. We were sixteen months into the Trump presidency and had been writing through all the chaos of that time. We both needed a push to the other side. We brainstormed for a bit. I remembered an actor friend who had recently done an exercise boot camp to get in shape for a movie.
Every morning in a park in Los Angeles, for two weeks straight, he did an intense cardio workout in the southern California sun. It sounded grueling, but it had been effective. Two weeks seemed like a doable amount. A month felt like a job, and a week felt like not enough work would get done. Two weeks would equal about two chapters for me.
For Anne it would help her make a dent on the first draft of her proposal. But really what it would do is give us enough momentum to get going on our summer. It would direct our energy in one location—our projects. We would shut out the noise, slough off the distractions, and push through the bad vibes for a finite amount of time. We picked a date that worked for her after the school year ended.
