Turning a hobby into a practice

I spend a lot of time these days thinking a lot about cultivating hobbies. This might be because I find myself daydreaming about retirement, now that I’m in my fifties and the distant light of my first career’s end is staring to shimmer on the horizon.

For years I’ve treated hobbies as a kind of magic bullet for work-related stress. What could be better than making something with my hands, learning an instrument by ear, or studying a new language to balance out all those hours spent staring at a screen?

That's why I've dabbled in dozens of hobbies and become comfortably mediocre at most of them. I’ve taken clawhammer banjo lessons for years (but still have “practice banjo” lingering on my to-do list, never quite high enough of a priority to check off). I’ve tried baking sourdough, birdwatching, quilting, biking, and learning a rotating cast of languages—Spanish, Japanese, Finnish. (Why Finnish? When one of the first phrases you learn in a new language is "I am a wizard," why wouldn't you want to learn it?)

These activities all bring joy whenever I do get around to messing around with them, but I rarely get the satisfaction of finishing or improving in a meaningful way.

Why I struggle to get on the hobby horse

The truth is, I crave completion. I love the feeling of wrapping up a project and doing it well. But hobbies, by nature, don’t always offer that sense of progress or purpose. Without it, I tend to drift away.

For years, fiction writing fell into that same category. It was another hobby I told myself I “should” do more often, but I rarely did. I’d start stories and abandon them halfway through, convince myself to just “have fun,” and then walk away frustrated when I didn’t feel myself getting better.

At some point, though, something shifted. I decided to take writing seriously—to really do the thing. And that’s when I realized the key difference: I needed to stop treating writing like a hobby and start treating it like a practice.

The difference between hobby and practice

A hobby is something you pick up when the mood strikes. A practice is something you show up for—consistently, intentionally, and with a commitment to growth.

The mindset of a practice sits somewhere between a hobby and a job. Like a job, it involves structure, goals, and accountability. But unlike a job, it’s driven by love, not obligation. You do it not for money or recognition but for the sheer fulfillment of doing it well. (If money eventually comes along, all the better!)

When I reframed writing as a practice, I began treating it like a dream job I wasn’t getting paid for, but that still deserved my time, effort, and discipline. I built a routine. I created structure. And I gave myself grace when things didn’t go perfectly.

Here’s what that's looked like in practice (pun intended).

9 ways to shift to a "practice" mindset

1. Dedicate time (ideally the same time) every day.

   I've carved out time for writing activities in the early morning, before my real workday starts. Those quiet hours between 5 and 8 are the "early shift" set aside for the creative work I crave doing. I’m not naturally a jump-out-of-bed type, so these mornings take discipline and preparation—including setting up the coffee, laying out clothes, and defining my morning goals the night before so I don’t waste time deciding what to do once I’m up, and setting three alarms that conspire to drag up away from my warm bed. As hard as it may be to get started, I'm never, ever sorry I got up early to immerse myself in quiet, uninterrupted writing time.
   

2. Set daily, weekly, and monthly goals.

   Instead of vague ambitions like “write more,” I track tangible milestones: daily word counts, deadlines for revisions, and dedicated times for submissions. Goals help motivate me to keep moving forward, even when I feel stalled or unsure. I like the "big picture" goals of what I'm trying to achieve each month, so I don't get sidetracked by new ideas or piddle around with projects that don't matter. Daily word count or chapter goals keep me typing until I hit them, preventing me from giving up when I'm not feeling it.
   

3. Use community for accountability.

   Setting up my crit partnerships has been one of the most important things I've done for my practice. Meeting live, or even emailing and swapping pages for feedback, every week has kept me writing and revising when I'd otherwise pause or slow down. Because I don't want to let my partners down, and want to make the most out of our time together, I keep writing. My crit partners have not only provided invaluable feedback, they've provided support and cheerleading, and it's also fun to talk shop with them.
   

4. Stay dedicated to learning.

   I've done a lot in the past few years, from taking classes to reading books to analyzing other people's writing, to learn to be a better author and storyteller. But even though I feel like I've vastly improved, I am devoted to remaining in the "growth mindset" by staying open to new perspectives, consuming everything I can read or listen to about writing from other authors, and putting my work out for critique. And I'm not just continuing to learn about the writing itself, but about the practice—for example, after getting some feedback from a crit partner on how I delivered critiques, I went in search of best practices for the art of critiquing other people's work.

   
   

5. Try new things constantly.

   From trying to improve at microfiction, to wading into new genres like rom-com, I'm keeping myself on my toes by dabbling with new forms, stories, and techniques. It keeps me from getting bored, but it also opens up new opportunities—new avenues for publication, new contests, and new writing communities.
   

6. Look for inspiration everywhere.

   I'm a long-time, avid reader, but reading now is a whole new endeavor, because I'm zooming in on a passage that's particularly well written, studying how an author pulled off a plot twist, or paying closer attention to character traits. I carry a notebook with me, or use my Notion app to write down ideas or bits of conversation I overhear. Even sensory moments (a waft of aroma, a weird sound, the way the sky looks) are more interesting to me for the way they might fit into a story.

   
   

7. Think long term.

   When I get frustrated or discouraged, I try to remember that a few years ago, I was barely writing at all. Then, I try to focus on where I want to be a few years from now. Having a long-term plan helps me prioritize the work and remember that a little bit of progress every day adds up over months and years.
   

8. Treat it like a business.

   I owned my own business for years, and maintaining this practice requires a similar approach and mentality. I manage my time and build systems that support effort and growth. I seek support and guidance for the things I'm not an expert at yet. And, I invest in the right things to help me grow—yes, that means spending money to make money. I also show up for it even when I don't always feel like it.
   

9. Respect the time for rest.

   Writing is a creative endeavor. I am prone to burnout. When I find myself starting to feel negatively about my practice—I start to hate my story, all I want to do is nap, I begin to go down emotional rabbit-holes about how everything I'm doing is pointless—I stop. I give myself space. Sometimes it's a few hours, others it's a few days. Inevitably, I wake up eventually ready to get back at it. The restorative power of a break is very real!

Turning a hobby into a practice has transformed the way I approach creativity—rather than waiting for a burst of inspiration or the right mood, I show up with intention, again and again. The rewards are quieter and more incremental than the thrill of a new hobby, but they're longer-lasting and lead to deeper fulfillment and a strong sense of self-trust.