Bev Bachel

The great thing about the new year is the chance for a “do-over.” What you didn’t get right—or done—last year, you can try again this year. This is especially true for writers. It seems that every novelist, poet, playwright, and memoirist I know longs for the big T: time.

But no matter how much more we desire it, we’re each given just 1,440 minutes each day. As a college professor once said when I complained about having to read ten novels in ten weeks, “It’s not how much time you have, it’s what you do with it.”

Here are some tried-and-true tips that can help you make the most of your time.

Go for your goals. You won’t be able to complete anything if you commit to everything. Be willing to say no, even when it means disappointing others. That way, you’ll be able to say yes in a big way to the goals you consider most important and the tasks that will help you achieve them. No, I can’t go out to dinner. Yes, I will see meet you for the movie that’s set in the same era as my historical novel. No, I can’t write a lengthy response to that e-mail. Yes, I will spend 15 minutes making a list of my main character’s flaws.

Break them into bite-size pieces. Going for your goals all at once is like trying to swallow an apple in one bite. Instead, break them into chunks that you can easily accomplish. Take one Loft class. Make a list of three agents. Write seven paragraphs. Doing what you set out to do, even it it’s just getting out of bed when your alarm goes off, unleashes an adrenaline rush that can help fuel you through your next to-do.

Get started. One of my favorite writing tools is the kitchen timer. The next time you find yourself procrastinating, set the timer for 15 minutes and start doing. When the timer goes off, stop. Or continue. It’s your choice. And regardless of which you choose, you will have gotten an important start on whatever you’ve been putting off.

Make use of the margins. If you’re like most writers I know, it’s hard to find time to write. There are work, kids, household chores, and more, all screaming for attention. Rather than waiting for a day off or an evening when you’re home alone, start making use of the margins, those small pockets of unexpected found time—when you’re on hold, when your gal pal is late for coffee, or when your teenager refuses to get off the phone. Take advantage of the small, and you’ll be surprised at how much you’re able to scrawl.

Track your numbers. Tracking your numbers every 30 days will help you make better decisions. There are many different numbers you can measure: minutes spent writing, word count, queries sent, queries accepted, poems written, and freelance-article income are just a few examples of the types of numbers that should be guiding how you spend your time, energy, and creativity.

Good enough, move on. Rather than agonizing over whether the protagonist in your novel should be wearing an amaranthine sweater or one that’s aubergine, call it purple and move on. As my friend and fellow writer Carolyn says, “Done is better than perfect.”

So, whether you long to finish your novel, journal more consistently, or make more money as a writer, now’s the time . . . ready, set, restart. It’s the best way to make the most of the coming year.

Bev Bachel is a full-time writer and author who’s enjoying her 2011 restart.

by Martin Cozza

You are lucky. You get to take off work and write for two months, thanks to a grant and to your spouse, who’s off for the summer and can watch the kids all day. You’ve started a novel, and it’s going pretty well. You rent a writers’ studio at the Loft, since you have to get out of the house. And you can ride your bike to the Loft—no parking worries. You have time! You have space! You have a project to work on! You are lucky! Yes!

Interview by Dara Syrkin

During her 1999 Bush Fellowship for midcareer physicians, Maggie O’Connor dedicated 10 percent of her time to learning how to write. “I had terrible writer’s anxiety. I chose my college classes based on which ones required the fewest essays. English 101 gave me stomach cramps. I decided I had grown up. The time had come to deal with my anxiety about writing.”

Fear or no, Maggie embraced the newness of writing. “My dad started weaving when he retired. So when I set out for the Loft with my guts quaking, I had the reassurance that old people can learn. I sat in classes and introduced myself as a science and math jock who wanted to learn how to write. One of the wonderful things about being a beginner is that you are free to ask any question.

by Eugénie de Rosier

It was a grand task to take up the humanitarian challenge of Peace Corps work for 27 months in Southeast Asia. Whew! It was great to come home in May 2008, but not so fine to be faced with the chore of a job search in our slumped economy. Nonetheless, I started a disciplined and organized effort in June.

Seventeen months later, in December 2009, I was still without full-time employment and had been wrestling with writing fiction full time. I’d made a commitment to writing twice and did so for two weeks each time. Downbeat newspaper articles or national labor statistics affected me and I returned to networking. Not seeking paid employment was scary.

by Mary Carroll Moore

When my novel, Qualities of Light, was published last fall, I celebrated as anyone would, fully enjoying the readings, book signings, and kudos. The book did well and received some good reviews. I even had my brief moment in the sun, being interviewed on WNPR in New Haven, Connecticut.

Then the furor died down. I unpacked my suitcases, went back to my writing desk, and faced my next book in progress.

by Nancy Edwards

I went to Denver last weekend to attend a baby shower for the impending birth of a grandson. I took with me three children’s books that belonged to my aunt, my mother, and me. The books are old and dog-eared with the soft pages coming loose from the bindings. They were published in 1910, 1921, and 1945, respectively. My name in large crayoned letters attests to my pride of ownership.

by Kate St. Vincent Vogl

In my former life I was a corporate attorney, slaving on the 83rd floor of the Sears Tower for a century-old international firm. None of the kids in the Sunday school I taught back then believed what I did, and I’m not sure they’d believe what I do now, either. Somehow I’ve moved into another profession where no one dares admit being one, but not because of the bad jokes. It’s because as writers—as new writers especially—we worry no one will believe us, least of all ourselves.

by John Evans

On the surface, it was a straightforward transaction: I retired because I could. The financials, though not ideal, were good enough, the work environment was increasingly unpleasant, and I was anxious to get on to something new. Why not retire? And, having done so, why not just shut the door and move on, instead of rummaging through my actions and motivations, as though I need a stamp of approval on my choice?