Same time, 8-9 a.m., Monday to Friday is all it takes to create a habit. London Writers' Salon made it stick! I am consistent now. It feels immeasurably good.

Sometimes I'm distracted. Other times, I type and get nowhere. But nearly every great writer has offered words to help the rest of us push through. This week, George Orwell's Why I Write and tribute to William Zinsser as a teacher (h/t Caroll's Substack) kept me going.

It's funny to me how clear the path to improvement is—practice relentlessly, embrace failure, raise the emotional stakes with some public risk (basically spike your nerves silly), expect long, grinding hours—and yet how tempting it is to waste time searching for shortcuts from strangers. The irony, of course, is that there are no shortcuts is part of the path itself. Zinsser's weekly assignments make perfect sense—thousand-word limits that pushed students through a wide range of forms "humor, interviewing, travel, science, sports, criticism, editorials." And then there was always the chance of receiving a sharp but honest margin note in said assignment: "You’ll notice that I stopped marking this halfway through. What you’ve written is interesting only to you." How incredible it must've been to be in that class.

I was already an overthinker. The Zinsserian Way simply gives me a structured framework to do it more efficiently:

When you're the exact age referenced in a quote, it strikes a different chord. Orwell had that affect on me,

I’d lower that age to somewhere in the early twenties, which feels more fitting today, given how much the world has changed since Orwell wrote his essay in 1946. Still, it was enough to make me reach for the book. I'm only about halfway through and it's intensely political—an opinionated take on wars, British colonies (Empire era, yikes), and the class system of English society. But he's an engaging writer, sure to offer insights on the endless topic of writing. We'll see?

Rule of Ten

I've written about this before—twice, actually. I am NOT SURE why this keeps happening but the drafts vanished into Kit void. Oh well, here we go again.

I've come to believe in the quiet power of picking an arbitrary number, let's say 10, as a guardrail for exploration. Constraints clarify, too much freedom is a bad thing, and a timeline always gives you something to look back on, to marvel at.

I'm thrilled that another piece of mine found a home in the Writers' Hour Magazine—especially, one written for a prompt I felt (*insecurity incoming*) I had little to offer. More on that next time.

But today, I paused to reflect. It turns out I've submitted to the Magazine ten times already! A small ritual, week by week. I've truly found so much joy in this pursuit that started as a simple trial. I've been declined seven times, accepted twice, and one piece remains in review—it was written in just a few hours, which for me, is no small thing at all.

Pick a number and practice for that long. Keep a promise to yourself. The feeling that follows is yours alone and NO one can take it away.

Stealing a few minutes to update my library of links on my personal website—part diary, part archive is strangely delightful. And it's pretty handy! Just last week, someone shared their favorite poem, and I got to toss a link to mine right back (this never happens! organize your links!)

On the topic of poems, this ode to solitude, written by a 12-year-old Alexander Pope, is definitely on the list:

Prompted by a wonderful Substack exploring the openings of short stories, I revisited Hemingway's A Clean Well-Lighted Place. A master of his craft—Hemingway accomplishes an astonishing amount in just eight pages. Allegedly (exists only on Wikipedia today, but probably sourced from a letter correspondence between the two), James Joyce once called it one of the best short stories ever written, praising Hemingway for reducing "the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do."

Through its three characters, the story evokes the misguided exuberance of youth, the quiet despair of age, and the fundamental longing we all share—for meaning, peace, and dignity. Perfectly paced, it felt like a spiritual continuation of Woolf's A Room of One's Own. I agree that we all need a quiet, clean, well-lit place and perhaps 500 pounds a year (a lot more in 2025 -_-)!

I recently stumbled upon the podcast Meet the Writers and I'm hooked. Georgina Godwin is one of the best hosts I've heard—thoughtful, curious, but NEVER intrusive (a rarity!) Not a single secondhand cringe in sight. The episodes with Jenny Mustard, Natasha Brown, and Sandip Roy were standouts. But nothing compares to her episode with Lynda La Plante. What a woman, writer, human navigating the twisty turny dark corners of life with grit and grace. Also, now I want to buy every book ever mentioned on the show (oh no $$$$$$$$)

So many books on my list.