Do you have an abandoned manuscript in somewhere in your files? (Hint: most people who consider themselves writers do.) Not all ideas grow into published works like books, nor is every idea worth polishing and publishing. And some need time to incubate.

Too often, writers see that lack of completion as a personal failure. Having abandoned one book or story, they worry about their ability to complete anything. Or, having resolved to become a published writer this year, they feel dismayed if it doesn’t work out.

Aggressive writing goals might motivate, but they can also damage us.

What if we approach our writing objectives as a series of experiments through which we learn and grow? In the long run, we might cover more ground than sticking with rigid goals. And we’ll certainly be happier.

The experimental mindset

Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s new book Tiny Experiments: How to Live Freely in a Goal-Obsessed World preaches the dangers of linear goals. Instead, she suggests approaching life with curiosity, as a series of experiments.

Although this isn’t a book about writing, the experimental approach to productivity certainly works well for writers, who tend to be curious and creative.

Le Cunff urges us to create small experiments (which she frames as “pacts”) to test assumptions and see what works for us.

A pact is simply a commitment to run a little test, framed like this:

I will do [activity] for [duration]

My author career began with exactly that kind of a pact.

The pact that led to a book

Back in 2014, after working for decades as a professional writer, I wanted to write a book but had no idea if I could pull it off. My own opinions and research, in a book-length form? It felt like a big stretch. I wasn’t even certain that my ideas would coalesce into a book.

Instead of trying to brute force my way through outlining a manuscript, I framed a short experiment that Le Cunff would call a pact: I would write 1000 words a day on my topic for 10 days to see if I could come up with anything worthy of a book.

That’s it. No pressure, just an exploration.

Every day I rummaged around in my brain for ideas, opinions, and observations about the topic. I’d slap headings onto different sections to organize the results when I was done. Sometimes my daily words included questions to myself. It wasn’t pretty or structured.

After 10 days, I had 10,000 words of content. And that work showed me the general outline of the book, as well as my ‘foundational’ concepts — the different ways that customers perceive value in the products they purchase.

If I hadn’t come up with the content, I would have put the idea aside and tried something else. That’s the beauty of tiny experiments—they open up possibilities without committing us to a path that we cannot yet understand.

Embracing the limits

The power of the pact comes from lowering the bar in terms of both effort and time.

I embraced what Le Cunff calls “intentional imperfection.” I wasn’t trying to come up with a perfect outline or beautiful prose. And my pact had a strict time limit of ten days. Writing a book sounded hard. But, ten days of freewriting? I could certainly do that.

Most of those initial words never made it into the book’s manuscript. But they got me where I needed to go. Nothing is wasted in writing.

Pacts help us make good mistakes and learn from them. At the end of the pact, we evaluate what we’ve learned. We might pause, pivot, or continue on our way. These small doses of commitment teach us much about ourselves. And when they don’t work, they aren’t “failures” but experiments from which we learn.

What experiments might you run?

How might you conduct tiny experiments in your writing life?

It will depend, of course, on what you’re trying to learn. Would you simply like to find more time to write or explore subjects? Consider a simple pact like this:

I’ll write for 15 minutes every day for 15 days. 

Then, assess it after 15 days and see if you want to keep going, or if it has given you fodder for a new experiment.

You can use pacts to explore a new genre or slip a new practice into your writing life.

Here are a few ideas to start you thinking.

• I will draft one flash fiction/nonfiction piece every day for 10 days.
• I will read a poem every morning for the next two weeks and see if it changes the way I encounter the world.
• I’ll write morning pages every day for a month and see what happens.
• I’ll work on my book at least 20 minutes every day except Sunday for the next two months.

If you dream of writing a nonfiction book, you might try my original 1,000-words-a-day-for-10-days pact and see where that gets you. (I’ve given the exercise to multiple prospective authors trying to figure out exactly what book they want to write.)

But remember, these are experiments, not goals. Focus on the process and learning, not the end results. At the end of the period, evaluate what you’re doing.

• If you could not manage daily work, then that’s a lesson learned. What changes would you make?
• If life got in the way but you want to keep going, how might you alter the pact for right now?
• Perhaps something more vital has come up—you can pause the pact.
• Want to keep it going? Go ahead. Extend the duration of the pact or make it part of your life.

These pacts focus on process, not on output, and certainly not on other people’s responses to our work. By approaching the process with curiosity, we may discover overlooked strengths and possibilities.

Our lives are fluid and changing. This experimental mindset is key to thriving and exploring the work you most want to do. Perhaps you’ll learn that writing a book isn’t for you, but you’d like to try flash fiction. Or poetry. Or you’d rather dedicate your writing to witty emails to your friends.

Hold tightly to the process during the pact, but loosen your grip on the results. Then see what happens.

More on this idea

Find the book Tiny Experiments on Amazon or Bookshop.org. (Affiliate links.) Or order it from your bookstore!

Read my book review on Medium, or watch it on YouTube.

Here’s a post about another experiment I ran—although, one year was a lengthy commitment! My Story Journal Experiment.