We all know the story of the tortoise and the hare. So why haven’t we learned from it? In so many things in life, we’re still trying to be the hare, to get where we’re going fast.

Let’s set aside for a bit the slow-and-steady-wins-the-race portion of Aesop’s Fable. Or the hare’s over-confidence. The most interesting part of this enduring story is that the tortoise agrees to the race at all. Did the tortoise recognize the hare’s over-confidence? Expect the hare to tire himself out? Or just love a good race? What do we take from this fable? The answer may not simply be: do the opposite of the hare.

The first time I attended a writing workshop, it was on a fancy college campus in upstate New York. I’d never been around the people who actually wrote the books I saw on the shelves at bookstores, and this conference featured Joyce Carol Oates, Amy Hempel (who I’d never heard of), and Michael Ondatjee. There were probably many other impressive writers that I just didn’t recognize. Charles Simic gave a reading one night that made me vow to learn more about contemporary poetry.

At one of the after-reading cocktail hours, I found myself baffled and standing in front of Simic and Ondatjee. Ondatjee’s cheeks were red, and he laughed and placed a hand on my shoulder, “Here’s the thing,” he said. “You’ve got to just keep going. Don’t quit. Keep going.” I hadn’t asked him for writing advice. Maybe he saw the hope and newness in my face. I was going to write stories! Novels! Be a writer!

Be the tortoise, he may have been saying. Perseverance wins.

That was nearly a decade ago, and I’m just now finishing my first novel. In the time since, I’ve earned an MFA, been a fellow at the MacDowell Colony, and worked at a literary arts organization. I only started publishing my creative work in earnest last year. The pace has felt very slow, but by most accounts, it is very typical for a new writer. But my hare-like tendencies are constantly overwhelming me, running me ragged until I get nothing done.

As a coach and teacher for other writers, this is one of the most common issues I see new writers struggling with: hare syndrome (often coupled with a less-hare-like self-criticism). Writers want to finish their first novel in two years. Maybe they heard from a teacher that he sat down and wrote his first book in six weeks. These new writers give themselves 5,000 words per day or six hour per day regimens and then are disappointed in themselves when they can’t meet their own expectations. This perception of failure shuts them down, they retreat to ice cream and Netflix, and nothing gets written, not a word.

So a proposal: be the tortoise. Be the tortoise without any regard for the hare. This isn’t a race, as they say. Persistence works much better than the degradation of confidence and spirit that are often the consequence of moving too fast. I think this applies across many disciplines. Consider two practice scenarios:

Getting yourself to write at least 100 words a day for 4 days plus one great day of 500 words: 900 words/week.

Sitting down with the muse (late Sunday afternoon) and really pounding the keyboard: 20–30 minutes rereading what you’re working on and 1,000 words.

Word-count wise, these are not very different scenarios; either way, you’ll find yourself with a novel draft in roughly two years. But did you enjoy the ride? Did you give it your full attention? If you add in time spent rereading and feeling guilty for not writing on a given day, the first scenario wins every time. If you consider that pressure to perform may shut you down to the point that even late Sunday afternoon guilt sessions aren’t happening, well, slow and steady, friend. If those 100 words aren’t forthcoming, you may spend a lot of time on them, you may stare closely at the blank page, but these words will have your attention, they will have your mind.

The violinist Nathan Milstein who once asked his teacher Leopold Auer how many hours a day he should be practicing. Auer responded, “Practice with your fingers and you need all day. Practice with your mind and you will do as much in 1 1/2 hours.”

This is what I think the tortoise knew, and why he decided to take the hare’s challenge: he knew winning didn’t matter. He knew the view along the way — what I like to think of as the work — was all that counted.

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