Should you put pressure on yourself?
- elinevedderauthor
- Nov 16, 2025
- 8 min read
Hello mindset, it’s you again | Writing discipline, creative process & second novel
Notes on discipline
It is between the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. The trees in our street begin to respond to the changing seasons. I slept with my window ajar and woke up to the chirping birds.
Next to me, on my pillow, lies a pencil and a book I fell asleep with. There is a question mark on my sheet, writing marks on my wrist and arms, and highlights in the novel. I drew a square around the word gallivanting. My plan for today is to do exactly that, to gallivant in Prague. I move closer to the window, open it more, and a leaf travels on the wind, straight into my bedroom. I catch it with my hand and take in the bright yellow. The streets I live on are covered in them. Every year, the sight of these leaves and the classical buildings that only this area of Prague has hits me. It’s like seeing my favorite painting for the first time.
I place the leaf on my closed laptop and realize I have not written for more than a week. There are more than three months left in the year. And I promise myself that by the time the trees are empty, possibly covered by a thin layer of snow, the next draft of my novel must be finished. To add action to my words, I write this and hang it on the wall above my desk.
I leave the house, ready to gallivant in the yellow-orange streets of Prague. My second novel takes place here, so I dress up like the main character, Adela. What would she pick up on in this city? How can I use that for my book?
One month later
The novel is hanging somewhere between draft 0 and draft 1. Draft 0 has random scenes I will never use, descriptions of places my characters won’t ever set foot in. I don’t remember why I wrote them down. My story is better off if I move them to the ‘deleted scenes’ file. The Backspace key cleans my file. As the word count goes down, clarity finds a place in my mind.
But this clarity won’t last long. Draft 1 is about finding out what the story is about. You would expect answers, but more questions arise. I like asking questions, and with careful enthusiasm, I push my characters over the edge and into the deep. They are on a quest to find the answers for me. I will guide them if I can, cheer them on from the sideline. But they have to do it, while I focus on the plot and clear writing.
Day-to-day practice
Every day I wake up thinking, I have to write today. While I wait for my water to boil and count the tea leaves in my French press, I think: this will be a good writing day. I skipped coffee in the morning, so I can focus on this. I got this. Let’s write 2,000 words today. The words are at the top of my fingers, screaming to get out and jump into the paper. I have to do it, I’ve promised myself. You want this, now go prove it.
I open my Google Docs file and my notebook. I scroll through the scene I wrote down yesterday, skip to the last page, and back to the first one. I’m overwhelmed. All I see are placeholders, sentence cut off, flaws, notes with [check this later], [this is weird], and [wtf], [make this one person? Why are they all here?]
I need a ‘slow reading session’ playlist. I pick up my phone, get distracted, and give my precious focus away to apps that don’t deserve it. I try to find it back by going through my notes, by scrolling back and forth in the file. Maybe I should check YouTube and start a 20-minute video on how to structure my chapters? (I have already watched hours of YouTube videos, believe me. And the best advice is to keep on writing. I also know this because, as silly as it is of me, I sometimes forget that I have already written and published a book. This is not the time for techniques and studying; it’s the phase of drafting and getting to that word goal.
I am lost in the story, and call it a day. I look up at the paper on the wall, apologize for not sticking to my promises, and close my laptop. I have written 150 words... My shift starts in thirty minutes, at 5 pm. On my way to the bus, I pass the park in Prague, from where the birds chirp as beautifully as always. I’m late, but stop to let a dad with a stroller pass the narrow sidewalk.
These two seconds fill my brain with negative thoughts, and I quarrel with myself. You did not write today. You can delete words all you want and feel good about it, but you are avoiding the real work. And the worst thought: You don’t want it badly enough, you don’t deserve to write this story. You are not a writer. You suck. You will never find out what writing is about. You can’t do it twice.
Pressure can be good. It’s a reality check that writing good books takes time. The hard work is a form of respect for all the books that have been published before. I would not want to do it if it were too easy. I want to feel what my favorite authors felt when they were crafting books that I annotate with love. I put pressure on myself; it will be more satisfying. But can it also block me and stand between me and my writing?
At work, I’m shaking sweet ginger-cherry cocktails and pineapple BBQ margaritas. I’m too busy to criticize my writing. When I return from the storage, with natural wines from Italy and Moravia, a colleague asks how the writing is going. ‘It’s soooo hard, I don’t understand it,’ I am prone to say. But just on time, I come up with a different answer. Why would I speak badly about this passion? That is like stabbing a knife in the cover of my first book.
“It’s going pretty ok, little by little.”
“I don’t understand how you do it.”
“Neither do I, sometimes. But it’s my thing, you know.”
Because writing is many things, but mostly, it’s mine.
In the same week, another colleague runs to me. “Hey Eline, you never told me you wrote a book.”
“It’s there, do you want me to show you?” We walk to the bookshelf. Between books on natural wine, food photography, wine and food pairing, food and its origin, and a Prague travel guide, you will find my novel: Sitting Next to a Stranger
“What’s it about?” he asks as I show him the copy with the stunning cover design.
“About a painter, an artist. She has lost touch with her creativity and travels to Mexico to search for it. She realizes she needs to live her life boldly and get out of her head, into the world. It serves her art.”
“I want one, can I buy it?”
I promise to bring a signed copy on my next shift and tell him it’s a beautiful story. “I know,” he says. “I can see it in the way you talk about it. I can’t wait to start it.”
I don’t need to travel to the other side of the world again, searching for strangers and adventures. I already know the story. It’s in the first draft and the outline. But I do need to change something. If you don’t find out how to fix it, you don’t deserve it.
On a morning in November, a day or a week after selling another copy of my first novel, I received a text from my mom. I want to stay in bed because I did not write enough yesterday. To stare out of the window, count the last leaves on the trees. People on the streets are wearing their winter outfits, and I let a cold breeze into my apartment. It carries the Czech language, the sound of a truck delivering beer kegs to the bar on the corner. And a chirp of a bird, but only if you listen closely.
My mom asks me what I’m doing today, and she hopes I am having a gentle weekend.
I’m good, Prague is gorgeous, and I have to write today, I reply.
Be gentle to my daughter, be kind to her
Huh, what? hahax
She replies: I read ‘Have to’. It’s better if you let it all just come to you, let it flow. Have fun.
It does not work that way, I type. But I replace it with: Ok Mom, I will flow-wow-wow-wow. kussss thankyou
Where is this line between being gentle and disciplined? Letting the words flow vs. drilling my brain to find them? Where is it for me, and does it shift? Is the answer ‘to find balance’? I’m sick and bored with that abstract answer. Keep your balance on the yoga mat, but avoid it in life. I prefer to be all over the place. To ricochet into something, or lose myself in it. To go all the way and always come back to my desk. There does not need to be a 50/50 balance in my life.
I wish readers of my first novel would find their creativity back. I want them to have fun on a trip through Mexico and Guatemala. Should I chase that fun in writing and ditch the deadlines? I get out of bed, tear my written words from the wall, and place my notebook on my easel to write myself another message.
What did this mindset do for my novel?
Adela’s story is not lighthearted, sweet, or all fun. I’m actually going through scenes and topics that scare me a little. But I’m having fun with finding out what my brain picks up from my life. I am having fun with the art I surround myself with, the people I met over the past months, or the new places I’ve traveled to (by plane or by opening a book). I’m re-exploring Prague with the eyes of someone who recently moved here.
Maybe writing is about gualevanting through life, through my thoughts. It’s about following my curiosity, to light or dark parts, but always with a pencil in my hand. And if I am having fun, then dedication and discipline will flow to me. And it won’t feel like hard work at all.
Today, on November 16, as the trees have lost their last leaves to autumn, I hit 54,000 words. My goal for the end of the year: have fun, try to write every day, rest, always come back, also when you’re not satisfied with the progress. Take care of your practice, your books, and your life. But do it calmly. You’re doing great, and no pressure.
With love,
Eline Vedder
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