How to become a better writer.

Week two of creating the Apollo Project

Feb 02, 2025

I just finished week two of creating The Apollo Project. Here’s a quick reminder of what this project is, why I’m doing it, and why it matters.

The Apollo Project is a collection of resources, examples, and exercises that anyone can use to take their writing from beginner to intermediate, and then, intermediate to advanced. It’s a bit like a library, or a non-sequential reference guide. Meaning that if you want to learn how to write:

Better headlines for an advertisement,
Better dialogue for a short story,
An outline your manuscript,
A structure for your first blog post

You’ll be able to find examples, videos, lectures, and exercises to help you do that. I like this format because I can easily add, edit, and remove material at any time to make the final resource more robust.

Now the reason I’m doing this is because writing is not only something I enjoy doing, but something I enjoy getting better at. Not to mention my ability to write has become—far and away—my most lucrative skill set. So I’m going to spend all this time learning anyways—I might as well create a way for other people to benefit from it as well.

Here is a preview of the outline of the project. Each module contains lessons, and each lesson is composed of exercises, explanations, lectures, and resources.

Finally, why should this exist?

Paul Graham has written about this in a piece called “Writes and Write-Nots”. In it, he enumerates how we don’t actually think in our heads, but instead we think on paper.

I’ve seen this play out, time and again, in my own life. I’ll start with an idea and a blank page. Then I’ll begin writing down ideas that I believe to be true, but have only ever existed in my head. When I’m forced to make them concrete, and reconstruct my own beliefs, oftentimes I can’t. My logic breaks down. Paul believes this is because when we’re keeping everything upstairs, we’re liable to take liberties. When we write things down, those leaps in logic become more obvious, and the resilience of our idea is tested. Very few ideas will hold up to the rigor of writing.

Therefore, Paul believes that if you’re not writing, you’re not actually thinking. And based on my own experience, I agree. So what happens if no one is writing anymore, and as a result, no one is thinking anymore? I don’t know, but I bet whatever it is looks pretty bleak.

Today class lines are largely determined by one’s ability to code, but where will the class lines of the future be drawn? Paul believes it will be determined by one’s ability to write. Those who still have the attention, patience, and skill to do so will be richly rewarded—while just about everyone else will be outsourcing all thought, memory, and mental exercise to an AI.

All of this is a very long way of saying—I’ve made a lot of money through my ability to write. I’d wager it will only become more lucrative as time goes on. The Apollo Project is my attempt to help others do the same.

I. Iteration is repulsive.

Something I forgot about writing is that so much of it is revision. Which is not the same as iteration.

Iteration is the looping of external feedback. It’s fielding, and adopting, and including the opinions of others in our creative process. Which means that the final destination of all iteration is a general, bland, yet pleasant quality. Iteration smooths out rough edges, and cools harsh tones. It’s the process through which people are given what they want, but never what they need. By including the opinions of others in our creative process, we make that which is most agreeable. The result is always quite far and away from what we initially intended.

Thankfully, the vast majority of writing is done through revision. That’s because as a writer, the answers to your problems don’t come from the outside world, they come from the inside one. Being able to revise, and revisit, and ruminate under the steam of your own convictions is the difference.

Our reliance on iteration—not just in the writing world, but in all facets of our modern lives—is something I’m starting to find repulsive. It’s a waypoint of more pervasive societal problems. Problems that live on the corner of giving-people-what-they-want-street and lack-of-conviction-lane. Writer or not, I think we can all benefit from more revision and less iteration.

II. What I Learned About My Writing Practice.

Cold Turkey Writer

When I sit down to write suddenly everything else in the world becomes urgent. I need to get groceries, and put air in my car tires, and file my taxes. Even when I really want to focus on something I love, my mind revolts. It has become so accustomed to multitasking—or context switching—that I can’t bring myself to do the one thing I need to do.

It’s very hard to beat distraction anymore. There’s just so much, and it’s just so good. But the problem is more pernicious than that. We’ve become accustomed to distraction. So when we attempt to sit, focused, for too long, our brain starts freaking out. Now, if we can harness this discomfort we can actually use it to our creative benefit. But more often than not, our mind has grown so accustomed to stimulation, that it seeks out distraction just to find peace.

One secret weapon I have for writing—which I suggest you pick up immediately—is a piece of software called Cold Turkey Writer. It’s a free, minimalist, text editor. There are no buttons, or tabs, or distractions. Just a single document. But the best part is, when opened, it blocks everything else on your computer. Turning your $2,600 MacBook Pro into a typewriter. You can’t do anything but write—and so, you do.

Leaving The House

My new routine is to leave the house, go to a coffee shop, grab a drink, fire up my laptop, and set a total block on my computer for 3 hours. Then I just write and write. Sometimes I stare out a window for a few minutes, sometimes I listen to other people’s conversations, but I always get right back to the task at hand. Before I know it, it’s time for lunch. Three hours straight of focused writing is a lot.1 Which means, on good days I feel proud and productive before noon.

Leaving the house to work is so important. The contextual switch changes my entire demeanor. Writing becomes a serious act, and therefore is treated by my mind as a task worthy of single-minded focus. I now do this at least four times per week. They’re always my best days.

III. Other Writers, and the Writing Life

Here are a few things I learned this week, while building The Apollo Project, about writers and the writing life.

Distraction is public enemy number one in the writing world. Which means that, many authors still choose to write with a pen and paper. Those who do, have a justified mistrust in their own willpower. They know that the tasty distractions of the 21st Century are just too damn good to resist. So the best writers create systems that force them to write day in, and day out. Butt in Chair, Hands on Keyboard is a popular saying in these circles. Sit down, every day, at the same time, and do what you gotta do. Even if you write 20 words, it’s better than scrolling TikTok and writing zero.
There are two modes your brain can inhabit as a writer: the Creator, and the Editor. Each persona serves an important function in the writing process, but you cannot cycle between them easily. The Creator is about speed, and emotion, and impulse. They tell the off-color jokes, build magical worlds, and draw abstract connections. They’re all instinct. It’s the Creator’s job to spit everything onto a page. If they feel it, regardless of whether it’s true or not, they write it. The Editor is the opposite. They’re judicious, skeptical, and by the book. They make sure sentences are structured, ideas are complete, and the really offensive shit never sees the light of day. They’ll labor over details. And most importantly, they’re slow, slow, slow. Which means that, you can’t channel both personas at the same time.
You really don’t need to write for more than 3 hours a day. I’ve heard this exact number several times, from several different prominent authors. I know personally, in about 3 hours I can get anywhere from 2,100-4,000 words written. For the balance of the day, most authors spend their time reading, living, and synthesizing. Which means that a lot of writing is meandering, taking notes, and daydreaming.
You should not start a new project until you finish an old one. Something I’ve learned about myself is I feel far more comfortable as the Creator, than the Editor. Oftentimes, I find myself weeks into an essay, struggling to finish, when a wealth-spring of new ideas begins flowing. I’ll inevitably find a newer, more luxurious idea to take hold of. The work of fleshing out this new idea streams from my mind easily. There’s no resistance, like scissors gliding through wrapping paper. My Creator’s mind runs free. Then, when the new idea is complete, I switch to Editor mode—and things change. The resistance sets in, and the whole cycle starts again. This can go on forever. But this week, I learned this is a trap, and instead of allowing myself to entertain this new idea, I should simply make note of it, and persist until I finish what I started. Elizabeth Gilbert’s advice on the matter was that: unless you have a proven track record of finishing literally anything, you’re not allowed to jump from idea to idea.

Writers figured this out ages ago. Without heavy amphetamines, or alcohol, productive writing beyond three hours a day is nearly impossible. White-collar workers still don’t seem to understand this. Why we’re all still pretending 8 hours productivity is possible—I will never understand. You’re just burning mental fumes, which always hurt come tomorrow.