The softest boot camp: My 31-day plan to write (and drink water)

Writing challenges are a powerful tool for authors who thrive on friendly competition and external motivation, and let’s face it: authors are some of the most externally-motivated folks there are. They were a staple of my writing practice while I was drafting my first book, especially NaNoWriMo’s fifty-thousand-word challenge in November (which I had joined every year from 2004 until the organization collapsed under the weight of its unethical decisions). I joined online writing groups and participated in writing sprints, prompts, and other time- or word-count-based challenges. I instituted my own, as well, and tracked my progress on a cheerful spreadsheet while sharing updates on my social media. In short, I used writing challenges to trick myself into creating a routine.

One year ago, I published my first ever book. It was a huge accomplishment, the culmination of tons of hard work over two years—and I don’t just mean the writing work. I did loads of research for the story itself, and then I did more research for how to publish it, what programs to use to typeset it and create the cover, how to use those programs, what tropes would help “The Algorithm” put it in front of readers and what keywords would put it in front of booksellers, and on and on. For two years, it became a part-time job on top of my regular job, and I plugged away at it until it was published, and then I started writing the next book.

For some reason, I decided my second book should take half the time to finish. I know more now, I reasoned. I understand the market more, and I have an editing process that works, and I have writer friends to support me, I told myself. Other authors churn out a book in two months. I can do it in a year.

Interestingly, to everyone’s immense surprise, that hasn’t happened.

The anniversary of my book publication has come and gone, and I’m still not done with the first draft of my second book. I haven’t been working on it as diligently (I took lots of long breaks when life got hard or busy), but I also haven’t been enjoying it as much. The story is great, actually, and I believe it’s an important one, but something’s blocking me. The writing challenges I’ve set for myself have been fizzling out, my monthly word-count goals diminishing to twenty thousand, then ten thousand. In May, I told myself I would be happy if I could just get two thousand words out.

I don’t think it’s laziness, as much as I keep using that word to berate myself. Rather, it seems like a confidence issue. Having spent over a year engaging with fellow authors on social media, I’ve noticed a troubling habit of comparing myself to authors who are way out of my league. Their enormous success makes mine look paltry, and instead of celebrating my wins, I belittle them as being not good enough.

The published book hasn’t helped either. Instead of throwing myself a party every time someone I don’t know takes time to leave a review (that’s an incredible compliment!), I internalize the criticism and discard the praise. Now I feel pressured to please theoretical future readers by writing a book that fixes the mistakes of the first one, and of course, I have to do that in the first draft.

You’d think I’d have the self-awareness to know this is a tendency of mine, since I’m one of those straight-A “gifted” millennials whose perfectionism and people-pleasing makes them great at identifying their own flaws. Maybe I’d decide to stop consuming social media that makes me feel like shit, and mellow out my expectations for myself before I snap and throw all my half-empty writing challenge spreadsheets into a bonfire.

Well, that’s the goal for August. (The mellowing part, not the bonfire part.)

Progress, Not Perfection: August 2025 Challenge

This month’s writing challenge is more complex than many others I’ve attempted, but the purpose of it isn’t just to churn out a bunch of words. I’m attaching other habits: hydration, exercise, meditation, and reading. By the end of the month, I hope to have established a routine that improves my health as well as my creative process. And I’ll have a finished draft.

But intrinsic motivation won’t help me kick my lily white butt into gear. The magic, hopefully, comes from a bevy of rewards to trick my mammal brain into completing the tasks I set. For 31 days, I will be my own dog trainer, positive reinforcement only. It’s a soft, fuzzy boot camp. An UGG camp, if you will.

Here are the rules and my reasoning for them.

Set downtime limits for social apps

Doom-scrolling is my absolute favorite activity, judging by the six to eight hours I can log on a bad day. That really must stop.

Set a weekly drafting goal and increase the reward each week

The goal will dictate what I need to do for my draft that week, and I should make it concrete and achievable. It can be related to word count, chapter completion, scene plotting, or whatever makes sense, which is why I can’t decide ahead of time. Every Thursday, I’ll assess how it went, celebrate my wins, and set another goal.

(This Friday-Thursday thing is really going to mess with me, but I refuse to lose that first weekend by starting on the objectively correct day to start challenges, which everyone knows is Monday.)

Each week, I get a reward. Food always works for me, but I’m trying to incorporate non-food options too. The rewards get better as I go, to incentivize consistency.

• • Week one: custard from Culver’s or Andy’s, or fresh flowers ($5-$10 value)
  • Week two: sushi, or $15 to spend shopping ($10-$15 value)
  • Week three: a writing craft book ($15-$25 value)
  • Week four: afternoon at the lake or downtown (Priceless! But actually, this one requires planning and a time commitment, so it feels like a big splurge even if it’s “free.”)

Reward daily goals (so-called “baby steps”)

I have four areas I want to improve, namely drinking water, moving my body, reading for pleasure, and getting out of my head. I gave them measurable attributes:

• • Drink a growler of water a day (yes, I’m chronically dehydrated, so 64oz is an improvement)
  • Move for 30 minutes (take a walk or do a strength or mobility routine)
  • Read for 30 minutes (I’m combining this with the 52 Book Club connections challenge for extra motivation)
  • Write one page by hand without editing or re-reading (similar to “morning pages” from The Artist’s Way—this kinesthetic, stream-of-conscious activity has really helped interrupt my perfectionism)

I get a reward for each baby step, and a bonus if I do all four! (This is the dog-training equivalent of treats for each trick followed by a rowdy game of tug to decompress.) Rewards might include:

• • piece of candy
  • snack bag of Cheez-Its/Goldfish/Rice Krispie Treat
  • glass of wine
  • TV show
  • face mask
  • 30 minutes of standup comedy (watching on Instagram, not performing)
  • hammock lounging
  • or put $1 in an envelope for later ($5 if I do all four baby steps)

Track everything in my Happy Planner

Ok, the Happy Planner craze is over and I thought it was overhyped and overpriced anyway, but you really can’t beat how customizable it is. I found a planner on clearance at Ross, and I picked up the hole-punch using a 40% coupon and a gift card from JoAnn (RIP JoAnn, my one true love). Now I can put literally whatever I want in it.

I really don’t like the layout of the pages that came with it, but since I’m an unapologetic recycler, I’m repurposing them for my daily hand-writing goal (it takes the pressure off the writing if the paper is destined for the trash anyway). I’m tracking the rest on planner pages I designed and printed last year, before I acknowledged that I cannot keep up with a paper planner.

Celebrate at the end

This is my problem: I achieve a goal, but the dopamine rush lasts 0.2 seconds because my brain immediately tells me it’s not a big deal. So if I complete all the weekly goals (not the daily ones, since I’m liable to fall off the wagon every few days) and finish the book, I get a big reward. I chose a day at the Chicago Botanic Garden, with dinner and beers at a craft brewery after (see what I mean about the food motivation?).

“But Emma,” you say, “this is nothing like a boot camp.” Ok, but I’m tricking myself, remember? Listen: I’m a delicate little baby. I’m in my 30s, the decade known for staying in on weekends, no longer caring how people perceive you, and having a favorite brand of pretty much everything. I’ve known me for a long time now, and I know what works and what doesn’t. Tough love makes me cry. Strict rules make me anxious. Forcing me to do something is a surefire way to make me pathologically resistant to that thing. And if there’s an opportunity to reward myself with a little treat, I will seize the hell out of it.

That’s why I’m tricking myself into getting this book done. I’m framing everything in a positive light: I want to finish this book. I like writing. The goals are small and achievable and I will get so many treats if I do them. I’m such a good girl.

And if you think about it, it’s not not like a boot camp. I’m setting a pretty rigorous pace: four new habits on top of drafting, while still keeping up with work, family, and life? It’s more than I’ve ever bitten off before. I’m also not entertaining the possibility of quitting, so until September, this is my life. Habits take time to form, and I owe it to myself to stick with it. So I’m going to. Oorah.

Will it work? Only September will tell. But for an extra boost of extrinsic motivation, I’m declaring my intent to complete this challenge here on the internet, where anyone can see it.

Maybe this structure tickles your dopamine-starved brain, too, and you want an accountability buddy (accountabilibuddy?) for your own August challenge. Hell yes! I will cheer so hard for you. Message me on Instagram or BlueSky, send me an email, or just comment below. We can trick each other into getting so much done this month.