Want to Write? You’ll Need to Remap Your Brain.

Your lunch could raise your brain from the depths of blocked writing (and, um, mixed metaphors).

Most of us struggle to write. Not for lack of talent, and certainly not a lack of interesting life experiences. (Some of the best literature gets written by closeted introverts with exciting interior lives.) The problem most people have with writing has to do with our brains. They’re just not wired for writing.

So here are some ways to get your brain in shape to write. I practice them myself, even though I’ve been writing for money for many years.

1. Write down what you had for lunch, every day. 

Even your birthday and every holiday. Never skip a day. This will get you into the habit of daily writing that’s essential to a writer’s brain. I started doing this in third grade, when I told my teacher I wanted to write. “You should keep a diary,” she said. When I told her that boys don’t keep diaries (hey, it was a long time ago), she said, “A journal then. Just write about yourself.”

I went home and realized that, as a third grader in suburban Philadelphia, I had nothing interesting to write about. Then I overheard someone say, “You are what you eat.” So I wrote what I ate for lunch. That way I figured I would somehow become a writer when I grew up. I called my journal Lunch.

For the first year, every entry consisted of a baloney sandwich and a carton of milk. After a while, I began adding to those entries, describing a kid who picked on me, or a joke somebody told. The writing became a habit. I still write in that journal every day—on paper, which avoids obsolete software and broken hardware. I call it Lunch.

To remap your brain into a writer’s brain, you have to write every day. It can be nothing but baloney. It just needs to be a habit. 

2. Stop phone snacking. 

Every time you check social media or respond to a text, you’re giving your brain a snack, filling it with fatty, salty fast-food that pours in addictive endorphins and clogs your brain’s synaptic arteries. (No, that’s not exactly brain science, but your phone habit is truly doing horrible things, writer-wise, to your neural connections.) Set a schedule to check your phone just a few times a day, for no more than half an hour. Yes, that might make you less popular. Good. Remember that point about writers and introverts?

3. Chew your cud.

Every week, memorize a poem. This is amazingly good for your brain, on all kinds of levels. The very best writers all write poetry, and all the good writers I know read poetry. Memorizing poetry is best of all; not just because it will make you better at absorbing information, but also because it will free you from your devices. Every day, spend some time chewing your poetry cud. You’ve seen cows do (with grass, and just possibly with cow poems), and look how thoughtful they seem. Memorize a poem that looks amazing but puzzles you. Take your earphones out and play the poem in your head like a song from your mental playlist. I memorized Wallace Stevens’ "Emperor of Ice-Cream,” when I was in college, and every time I chew on it, during walks or on long runs, I find something new in it. When I’m feeling sad, I chew on Mary Oliver’s lovely “The Summer Day.” When I’m anxious about something, I chew on Mark Strand’s “The Good Life.” I chew and digest, and my brain absorbs grade-A poetic nutrition.

4. Got a personal writing style? Good for you! Now get rid of it.

Instead, let yourself imitate the style of the last wonderful book you read. (Of course, it goes without saying that you’re reading books. You can’t be a writer without reading books, lots of them.) Read David Mitchell’s terrific novels—Cloud Atlas, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, Black Swan Green—and you’ll see a writer who can slide into just about any genre, any style. Sure, most great writers develop their own style. But the best ones don’t try. They experiment for years and years, and eventually their voices come. Personally, I love ghostwriting, which entails extensive interviews and research that ends up having me writing in someone else’s voice—including a book “by” a former NASA engineer and one “by” a 12-year-old girl and a member of Congress. Every time I write in someone else’s voice, or experiment with a different style, my crusty brain forms new connections. 

Not interested in the writer’s life? Would you rather just make an honest living? Consider these remapping tips anyway. They won’t just make you a better communicator—wittier, more analytical, quicker on your feet—they’ll also make you smarter.

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Jay Heinrichs is the author of eight books, including the New York Times bestseller, Thank You for Arguing: What Aristotle, Lincoln, and Homer Simpson Can Teach Us About the Art of Persuasion.