Every year when January 1 comes around, the needlessness of setting goals is shouted from the rooftops. But I, in a clandestine corner of my apartment, earnestly fill out a spreadsheet, organizing my resolutions for the year ahead. I’m not particularly affectionate toward spreadsheets, but the one benefit of jotting all this down digitally is that reappraising these ambitions is as simple as opening Google Drive. Glancing back at my objectives—which I make a habit of doing—can be a humorous exercise. Eat more fiber; read Middlemarch; take self-defense classes. Very achievable, highly specific. Alas, there is one same goal threading through every spreadsheet that remains unattended to, taunting me with its perennial neglect: Write a screenplay.

You may need context here—we’ll keep it brief. I have happily plied my trade as a journalist for many years, but a couple of rousing screenwriting classes in college (and a love for television and film) left me with an itch for cinematic stories. Despite taking an online screenwriting course with NYU Tisch a couple of years ago (which in my humble opinion was a waste of $2,283) and multiple failed attempts to jumpstart a script idea, I’m left all these years later with nary a logline. That’s the thing about creative pursuits—you have to pursue them. Ceaselessly. And there comes a certain point when it’s made obvious that no one is going to force you to chase your dreams or achieve your goals; when the delusion of finding “the right time” is replaced with the dread of not having enough of it.

I reached that certain point a couple of months ago when revisiting my 2025 goals. Once again confronted by that lonesome spreadsheet cell, it became clearer than ever: either live in regret or goad myself into action. I’d prefer to say my next steps entailed a revelatory conversation with an esteemed mentor, but in actuality I careened down a rabbit hole that led me to a series of YouTube videos proselytizing Ernest Hemingway’s writing routine. (Oh internet, you work in mysterious ways.) My initial thoughts? First: Hemingway would have detested this. Second: I’m doing it.

What began as a foray into the peculiar rituals and routines of one iconic writer rapidly expanded into several rituals and routines of multiple iconic writers. Would my potential for writing something of note increase by channeling these literary titans? No doubt, the prospect of coming out on the other end of this experiment with nothing to show for it but mild embarrassment loomed large, but my shortcomings (more on that ahead) can be subsumed into one not-so-cringey category: growth! And so, if you also find yourself stuck in the mud of an artistic endeavor, might I suggest giving one of the ideas below a whirl? Pencils and pads at the ready.

Truman Capote: Horizontal Writing