Life is what happens

Why it only took 4 days for my perfect writing plan to go out the window

Last weekend, I sat in my local cafe and spent two hours mapping out every writing goal I have for 2026, breaking down well-architected plans for meeting my goals with enthusiasm and optimism.

This week, it all blew up in my face.

I went on a business trip this past week. It wasn’t anything strenuous, just sitting in conference rooms for three days with my manager team planning team goals and work for the year, with evening fun time built in. But what I didn’t account for was the way this in-person time drained my battery, while my brain tried to keep tabs on dozens of projects, conversational threads, and problems—not to mention keeping track of where I stuck my hotel room key.

I really did have aspirations of waking up early to write in my hotel room, or taking myself down to the hotel bar in the evenings to make some dents in my writing goals. Instead, I struggled to stay upright and crawled into bed early, too exhausted to handle much more than a dumb sitcom and a few hilarious Reels before falling asleep.

When I got back home on Friday, I felt the heaviness of total failure. I’d lost five valuable days when I should have been making progress toward my writing goals, and I was feeling behind, bummed out, and not a little exasperated with myself.

When life gets in the way

Jessica Brody, author of the Save the Cat books, recently wrote about what happens when “life gets in the way” of our writing plans:

Life is always changing. We can make plans all day long, but in the end, sometimes we have to go with the flow, rather than try to force the flow to go with us. When life gets in the way, just know that your characters are not going anywhere. They’re waiting patiently for you to return. Like the trusty friends that they are.

It’s a nice thought. But when I finally sit down and spend time to get organized, create an elaborate plan, and gather the confidence that I’m going to accomplish everything I’m setting out to do, how could I not feel discouraged when I almost immediately let myself fall behind?

Why we make the plan

The truth is, I made that plan because it gave me a sense of control. It helped me overcome the impatience that often overtakes me—wanting to do everything at once, feeling like I’m never doing enough, grappling with all the ideas and ambitions that come tumbling at me. A plan gives me solace that I have a strategy for addressing each one of these goals in time.

But what if sticking to the plan isn’t the point? The plan might help me think through priorities, identify what matters, and get excited about the work—but it also has to be flexible enough to allow me to be human, with a full-time job, a family, and a life. It can serve as an optimistic wishlist, but it can’t be so rigid that it doesn’t account for business trips, family emergencies, the flu, a work fire drill, insomnia, or just a day when I’m not feeling it whatsoever.

The work will always be there

The story waits for my return. Every time I show up to chip away a little at the big block of ice I’m carving into something unique and beautiful, I should be proud. The block is still too big, but it’s maybe a little smaller than the last time I faced it, and more beautiful and intricate than when I started.

A few things to keep in mind:

• Recovery doesn’t require perfection. I don’t need to “catch up” on all the writing I missed this week. I just need to write something today. Even if it’s 200 words instead of 2,000.

• I can lower the bar temporarily. My brain does better with tiny, achievable goals when it’s already overwhelmed. Not “finish chapter 12” but “edit for 20 minutes.” Not “write 5 weeks of Substacks” but “outline your next couple of articles.” Momentum builds from micro-movements.

• Breadcrumbs will be there for the future. As Jessica Brody suggests, if we’re heading into a week where things might go off the rails, we can leave ourselves notes about where we are in the story, what we’re struggling with, and what questions we’re trying to answer. This is our gift to future us.

• Structure yes, rigid schedules no. I need structure to function, but rigid schedules that collapse with the first disruption just lead to shame spirals. The difference: rigidity is “I write exactly 1,500 words between 6 and 8 AM or I’ve failed,” whereas structure is “I write in the mornings.”

Keep showing up

When I do return to my work, my characters are still there. Stories are patient in a way we rarely are with ourselves. The growth is in learning how to be gentle with myself when my plans fail, showing up anyway, and starting again and again—messy, behind schedule, but still there.

Like so much about writing, the process doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs me to keep showing up.