There's an old joke that goes like this:
A musician is lost in New York and needs directions to Carnegie Hall. He stops a woman on the street and asks: "Excuse me—how do I get to Carnegie Hall?"
She says: "Young man, you have to practice, practice, practice."
That joke is a little depressing if you're a writer.
Musicians actually can practice. They have scales—those mechanical, repeatable exercises. To practice the scales, you don't have to feel inspired or creative or have anything important to say. You can sit down and practice a C major scale.
Musicians never have to deal with the blank page, unlike writers.
Whenever we sit down to "practice writing," the blank page demands something of us:
What am I writing about? Is it good enough? Is it worth saying?
Which is why most writers don't practice at all. They write when they have something to write, and they stop when they don't.
But if you only write when you have something important to say, you'll never hone your craft.
I always wished writers had something like that. So I made it.
I ran this exercise for year with my undergraduate students. And now I'm sharing it with you: