Prompt: Write about the rhythm that suits your work.
The prompt for today, June 27, 2026, is: Write about the rhythm that suits your work.
This is where I tend to hyper-focus. I get so involved in what I’m doing that I forget about everything else.
This morning, for example, I was working on one of these eco-resin and artificial sea glass pen rests. Hannah came in and said, “It’s way too quiet in here. You must be hyper-focusing.” Sure enough, I’d been sitting at my desk for at least an hour and a half, just tinkering with an idea—experimenting, trying different arrangements, looking at angles, moving pieces of glass around to see how they might best hold a pen.
That’s not uncommon for me.
When I go to the shop, the same thing happens. I become so engrossed in an idea that I have a really hard time pulling myself away from it.
While I enjoy that, and while I think there’s something wonderful about becoming completely absorbed in your work, I also think there’s value in stepping away before you’re finished.
I’ve heard of writers who would stop after a fixed number of words each day, even if they were in the middle of a sentence or an idea. The point wasn’t to finish cleanly. It was to leave themselves something to return to the next day—a thread they could pick up again.
It’s an interesting way to work because we usually feel the need to complete something before setting it aside. But maybe there’s value in leaving a little bit unfinished.
I also think it’s important to return to your work with fresh eyes.
Whenever I look at something immediately after I’ve made it—whether it’s a pen, a bowl, or now these eco-resin pen rests—I mostly see the faults. I see the journey. I notice that it doesn’t have quite the lightness I was hoping for, or that there’s a bead of resin I didn’t intend, or that I sanded one area a little too aggressively.
Someone seeing the piece for the first time doesn’t know any of that. They don’t know what I intended. They only see what’s in front of them.
After you’ve stepped away for a while, though, something changes. You begin to forget the original intention just enough that you can see the piece more honestly. If the flaws still stand out, then maybe they’re worth paying attention to. But if they don’t, then maybe the piece succeeded after all.
If I could choose the rhythm that suits me best, I think I would slow everything down.
I’d spend more time developing quality. I’d give ideas room to breathe. I’d work more deliberately and with less urgency.
Of course, there’s a cost to that. We all have to balance our time, our responsibilities, and the realities of making a living.
But if money were no object, I would choose time.
Right on. You can find this prompt, and many more, at Letters Lounge.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one—or any of the others—so please leave a comment with your ideas, or a link to your own blog or audio journal. I’d be happy to give it a read or a listen.
Right on, folks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
This transcript was lightly cleaned up with the help of AI to improve readability while preserving the original voice and intent of the recording.
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