Short sessions cannot finish a novel by themselves, but they can change the way you return to it.

For a long time, I thought writing success depended on finding the right kind of solitude. Get up early. Guard the time. Put your head down. Repeat that often enough, and eventually you have a book.

That approach worked for me. I wrote five novels that way.

But lately I’ve learned something else: sometimes what keeps a book moving is not more time, more discipline, or more pressure. Sometimes it’s a writing sprint.

What a Writing Sprint Actually Is

A writing sprint is simple. You choose a short block of time—maybe twenty-five minutes, maybe thirty, maybe forty-five or sixty—decide what you want to work on, and write until the timer ends. That’s it.

You can do a sprint alone, but many writers do them with other people. Someone announces a start time, everyone writes quietly on their own project, and when the sprint ends, they check back in. Sometimes people share word counts. Sometimes they just say what they worked on. It’s less about competition than momentum.

Leigh Duvan describes that balance of accountability and connection well in “Writing Sprints Make a Difference”. What I appreciate most is how accessible the practice is. You do not need a perfect office, a full afternoon, or even a particularly inspired mood. You just need a defined slice of time and a willingness to begin.

Why I Changed My Mind About Them

I never even thought of joining group writing sprints before. Maybe I thought I was too cool. Maybe, as a dedicated introvert, I genuinely shied away from them. Either way, I didn’t think I needed them. I wrote five novels on my own. I got up early, did my writing, kept at it for ten or eleven months straight, and ended up with a novel.

But since launching The Working Writer, an online platform for writers built around community, I have benefited immensely from writing sprints.

These days, as the publisher and editor at History Through Fiction, I find myself pulled in a dozen different directions every day. Maybe two dozen! I have deadlines to meet—some very real contractual obligations, some of them self-imposed content deadlines. My mind is also constantly wrapped up in other people’s stories. Whether I’m editing or thinking about acquisitions, I’m regularly stepping into someone else’s imaginative world.

That makes it harder than it used to be to sit down and enter my own.

Writing Sprints Make Writing Feel Like an Appointment

This is the biggest shift for me.

Before The Working Writer, I mostly had appointments with myself. That can work, of course, but it’s also easier to break. If another obligation shows up, or the day gets crowded, or you simply do not feel ready, it becomes very tempting to push your writing time to later. Later, unfortunately, has a way of becoming tomorrow.

Writing sprints changed that because they turned writing into an appointment with other people. And for me, that matters. I have no problem setting aside other work when someone else is expecting me to show up. Once I sit down, I’m more present. More focused. More willing to stay with the work in front of me.

My pencil moves quicker. My mind reenters the story. I stop circling the question of whether I should be writing and simply start writing. And it feels great to get the words on paper.

They Lower the Pressure to Have a Perfect Day

One of the hardest parts of writing is that the work can feel so large. A novel is a long project. Revision is a long project. Even drafting one difficult scene can feel emotionally and mentally expensive. A sprint shrinks the frame. Instead of asking, “Can I make major progress on my book today?” you ask, “Can I give this thirty focused minutes?” That’s a much easier question to answer.

And for busy writers, that matters. Maybe you have a job. Maybe you have family responsibilities. Maybe your day is simply messy and unpredictable. On days like that, it is easy to tell yourself there is no point in writing unless you can give it two or three uninterrupted hours.

A writing sprint challenges that assumption. It reminds you that progress does not always come in sweeping, cinematic bursts. Sometimes it comes in a short, ordinary session that you almost talked yourself out of.

They Help You Stay Connected to the Story

When I do not write for several days, I notice it. The story starts to feel more distant. Reentering it takes longer. I can still do it, of course, but there is more friction. Regular writing sprints help reduce that friction. They keep me in contact with the book. Even if I only move a scene forward a little, I remain emotionally and imaginatively connected to what I’m making.

That matters more than people sometimes realize. A manuscript does not only grow because we produce pages. It also grows because we stay in relationship with it. We keep hearing its voice. We keep remembering what is at stake. We keep returning before the thread goes cold.

They Make Solitary Work Feel Less Lonely

Writing will probably always be solitary in some sense. Most of us still have to sit alone with the page and do the actual work ourselves. But solitary does not have to mean isolated.

That is one of the gifts of a group sprint. Everyone is working on separate projects, but there is still a shared spirit in the room—or on the screen. Nobody needs to be writing the same genre, chasing the same word count, or even working at the same stage of the process. What matters is the simple act of showing up together.

That kind of accountability is gentle, but it is real. It is harder to talk yourself out of writing when other people are beginning too. And when the session ends, there is something satisfying about being able to say, honestly, “I showed up. I moved the work forward.” It’s also just plain fun to check in with one another and talk about what we’re working on.

They Build Confidence Over Time

A single writing sprint may not feel dramatic. Maybe you write 300 words. Maybe you solve a scene problem. Maybe you just spend half an hour back inside the world of the book.

But over time, those small sessions accumulate. They create rhythm. They create trust. They remind you that you can begin, even on a crowded day. They make it easier to believe that the draft will eventually be finished because, again and again, you are proving to yourself that you know how to return.

That has certainly been true for me. I’m still very busy, so this novel will not be done in thirty, sixty, or ninety days. But without writing sprints, it might never have gotten done. Now I feel much better about my writing, and I’m confident I’ll have a first draft done in about six months.

I never thought I would say this — I recommend Writing Sprints!

What I like most about writing sprints is that they make writing feel possible on regular human days. They do not require ideal conditions. They do not promise instant genius. They simply give you a structure for returning to the work, and sometimes that is exactly what a writer needs.

If you are struggling to stay focused and do the work, I recommend trying one. And if you would rather not do it alone, I’d also encourage you to join The Working Writer. It’s a place for writers who want more than occasional inspiration—a place for accountability, encouragement, and the kind of community that helps you keep going when life gets crowded and the work gets hard.

We host regular writing sprints there, and that shared rhythm has genuinely helped me reconnect with my own novel. If that kind of support sounds helpful, The Working Writer may be exactly what you need right now.

You can begin with one short sprint today. If it helps, wonderful. If it becomes a habit, even better. And if you want a community to help you keep showing up, join us in The Working Writer.

Further Reading

Leigh Duvan, “Writing Sprints Make a Difference”.

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