On the Writers on Writing podcast, Ann Patchett explained how, after she read the first draft of what became The Dutch House, she had no choice but to throw it away. “I didn’t know I was capable of writing so badly,” she admitted.   

As I attempt to write my second novel, after having written an unpublished first one many years ago, I wonder: If someone as accomplished as Patchett is capable of writing a throwaway draft, my own capacity for bad writing is essentially bottomless. So, why bother?

Well, here’s the counterargument: Why not?

Writing for an hour after dinner or for a few hours on the weekend isn’t going to hurt anyone — least of all myself. (Obsessively watching YouTube videos explaining how super-intelligent AI could wipe out humanity, on the other hand, can give me an actual anxiety attack.)

So, in this otherwise stressful world, why not spend my time reading books and attempting to write a couple of my own? Surely it’s as good a way of living life as any. It may even be emotionally nourishing. 

Even so, the practice of writing fiction isn’t easy for me. 

Having a nine-to-five job is the first obstacle; I feel like I’ve earned some time to relax at the end of the day, so it’s challenging to push myself to work after work. Of course, many writers have had to do this. Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz was a government employee, and he wrote 80 stories and several early novels without making any money. Toni Morrison wrote three books while working as an editor at Random House. And Hanya Yanagihara was editor-in-chief of T: The New York Times Style Magazine until earlier this year. 

But let’s just say my willpower is slightly less sturdy than theirs. 

Another, more metaphysical, obstacle I face is the desire to be read by others. While writing is a solitary activity, it’s also an act of communion with the future reader. But not only must the novelist await the possibility of this gratification for years, she must ideally achieve the Buddha-like state of not expecting it at all since publication isn’t guaranteed.  

The biggest daily obstacle I face, though, is that I’m easily distracted. Thankfully, I’ve found a much more affordable version of Jonathan Franzen’s solution of writing in a bare studio without access to the internet: In my previous column, I wrote about joining a writer’s salon in DC, where I work alongside other people in a way that’s both soothing and distraction-free. Logistically, however, I can’t go there every day. 

If only I could come up with a ritual that would allow me to ease into writing on a nightly basis. In a Paris Review interview, Morrison described how she made a cup of coffee while it was still dark outside and then sipped it as she watched dawn break:

“Writers all devise ways to approach that place where they expect to make the contact, where they become the conduit, or where they engage in this mysterious process. For me, light is the signal in the transition. It’s not being in the light, it’s being there before it arrives. It enables me, in some sense.” 

I’m sure as hell not waking up to write while it’s still dark out. That sort of tenacity seems otherworldly to me. Instead, I’ve tried lighting post-dinner candles, but, I must report, this hasn’t made the transition as smooth as I would like. I’ve watched more than a few TV shows while subtle floral candle fragrance wafted in my direction. 

Anyway, all I can say is that, despite the challenges, I’m still writing. Yes, it’s slow and it’s uneven. But it’s progress. 

Ananya Bhattacharyya is a Washington-based editor and writer. Her work has been published in the New York Times, Guardian, Lit Hub, Baltimore Sun, Al Jazeera America, Reuters, Vice, Washingtonian, and other publications.