Playing at Being Motivated: Habitica for Writers

July 10, 2017
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Writing
daily writing, habitica, how to get motivated, motivation, online classes, writing motivation

One thing that was fascinating about this year’s Nebulas was the chance to meet so many people in the publishing industry, including a couple of the founders of Habitica, Vicky Hsu and Siena Leslie, who were on a panel about avoiding distractions – a key skill for a writer.

Habitica is a motivational game. It lets you gamify your daily tasks and to-do list, turning them into challenges you face in the game. As you complete tasks, you gain levels and items in the game, giving you an extra push to get things done. You can also set it up so you lose points for doing things, if there’s habits you want to avoid. There’s a social aspect; you can join parties and guilds in order to share your progress with friends.

I am always on a quest for a method that will help me stay organized. Various systems have come and gone, some more successful than others, and I’ve learned a few things about how to make such systems more effective. As I share how I am using Habitica, I’ll include some insight into how that knowledge shapes that use. I’ve been logging into it consistently for two weeks now, and I believe it’s going to stick, because I’m finding it very effective for a) nudging me to do things, b) helping me remember stuff, and c) motivating me to use free time and options (like snacks) better.

Core Component: Dailies, Habits, and To-dos

The key to Habitica is its tasks, which fall into three categories: dailies, habits, and todos.

Dailies are a key component. For people familiar with MMORPGs, this concept will be very familiar. They are things you can do once a day that earn you experience. These are effective because “” for me at least “” I get more done doing small chunks consistently than with sporadic sustained bursts. For example, someone learning to play a musical instrument is going to do better with shorter, more frequent practice sessions than one long sustained session. You can get complicated with dailies, but the only things I actually use much is difficulty settings (trivial/easy/medium/hard). The harder the task, the more experience /gold it yields. And they are mandatory – if you miss a daily, you lose hit points.

Here’s my dailies:

Checking the calendar and planning my day. This means looking at the calendar on my PC as well as Google calendars for the various roles I’m currently juggling. One reason I’ve implemented this is that in the last half year I’ve missed a bunch of stuff because I wasn’t in the habit of doing this. With it as a morning task, it’s something I can do quickly and get checked off. This is probably one of the smartest habits anyone can get into, and so making it a regular part of my memory makes me much more effective.
Writing. My goal of 2000 words is set to HARD difficulty level because it’s a top priority plus, well, it’s hard. At the same time I’ve got an accompanying habit set up as trivial: 250 words. Each time I get a chunk of words done, therefore, I can achieve a pellet’s worth of gratification without feeling like I’m padding my count too much, and build towards (hopefully) being able to check off that 2k word goal. This also means even if I don’t hit my goal, I do get some reward for getting partway toward it. This was originally 500 word chunks, which wasn’t as effective was I’d hoped, so I’ve changed it to 250 words. This is much more doable, and is an example of how you can “chunk” your work in order to make it more manageable. I’m more likely to sit down and knock off a few hundred words than 2,000 in one sitting. Doing it this way means I have some reward for my effort even on days when I don’t hit the 2k target, while I have additional reason to hit that goal (and even some to go past it.)
Basic self care stuff. People suffering from depression know that it’s easy to mope around and forget to do some of the stuff that will help you feel better, like food, showers, and getting out into the sunlight. I’ve got one task here, easy level, with the basics that I must hit as a checklist. I’ve pulled out “Take my medicine” as a solo easy level task because this is something I am perpetually bad about and I really want to get on the stick about it. This has been surprisingly successful.
30 minutes of housework. Like the words, I’ve split this into smaller chunks, because I am much more likely to go work in the kitchen for 5-10 minutes if I can get some points for it, and thus I pick away at the overall task. As I continue fine-tuning this, I may add a checklist that will remind me to do quick decluttering sweeps and anything else that really should get done every day, but since the house is usually pretty clean, it’s just a matter of staying on top of it. Can I run the household effectively on 3.5 hours a week? Undoubtedly not and I’ll end up putting in two or three times that, but this means that I keep on top of things on a daily basis.
Exercise. Each of the components of my routine is a separate task, medium level, which I think I will drop to easy at some point. Mainly I want to make sure I get my daily walk in, do some stretches (Steven Barnes turned me onto this great book), and a little strength training, because I am a big wimp, and would like to be less of one.
Self-improvement, mainly 10 minutes of language drill each in Spanish and Mandarin. I know from experience that doing it daily will work while cramming isn’t particularly effective (or likely). At the same time extra practice set up as habits in order to encourage me to do more than the basic daily allotment if there’s time. I use Duolingo for Spanish drill, combined with reading fiction in Spanish; for Mandarin, I’ve got Rocket Chinese and an iPad game. And an additional 10 minutes of practicing at something to build my dexterity.
Something outside my comfort zone. This doesn’t have to be big, although the recent shark cage dive was definitely a good example. But it can mean initiating an interaction I’ve been avoiding. It does have to be outside my normal comfort zone, though. For example, while smiling at or saying hi to a stranger might be a good one for my shyer friends, it’s something I do anyway. Pick things that you need to be reminded to do.

Habits are things you should do more but a, don’t necessarily need to do every day and b, might do more than once. For example, here’s some of mine:

Eat a fruit/vegetable. This makes me more likely to grab a healthy snack rather than chips or candy.
Promotional tasks. I’ve got reminders to promote my Patreon, the Rambo Academy, and my live classes. This nudges me to be better about tweeting, posting on FB, and other social media venues.
50 pages of nonfiction reading. This nudges me to get through a particular section of my to-be-read pile and not just read novels.
The aforementioned 250 words written (this must be fiction), which kicks me to be productive even after I’ve knocked off my requisite 2,000.
I’ve included some other tasks to encourage me to do them on a regular basis, such as posting for Patreon supporters, clearing emails, sending out submissions, editing 50 pages, etc.
Watching television is a negative habit (because I want to trim down on how much I watch), so each half hour costs me experience and points.

Todos are one-time tasks. This functions for me as a combo of todo list plus kick in the butt to get those items knocked off the list. Right now the list has a couple of appointments I need to make (due by the end of this week), two manuscripts I should read, a blurb to write, and several SFWA projects that I need to nudge along. One of the habits I’m working at is, when looking at an e-mail, either answering it immediately or turning it into a todo here that has an expiration date. This does nothing to address the pile of past todos, but one useful to-do, due Sunday evening, is looking over the week to come and setting up todos for things that I want to get accomplished that that week that aren’t already covered by a daily, habit, or existing to-do.

Why Habitica Works For Me

First and foremost, it’s a game, and I am a game addict. Gamify just about anything and I’m there. Habitica has random little rewards as well as reward for steady effort, set up in an addictive and gratifying way. It’s fun. Because I’m at the keyboard so much, Habitica is easy to access, but even when I’m not, there’s a mobile app that I’ve installed on my phone.

The game rewards me with coins that I can spend in the game or that I can spend outside the game on rewards I’ve decided for myself, such as buying a new book, which costs me ten gold on Habitica.

It also gets me to create reminders to myself in the form of todos, as well as provides options for odd moments. Since I work at home, I often get up and roam around the apartment, thinking about a story. Habitica encourages me to spend that time in the kitchen doing 5 minutes worth of tidying up, or taking a break for language drill.

There’s a strong social aspect to Habitica, including being able to group up with people and undertake quests in order to find additional items and pets. This encourages accountability; one of the things I’ve found about these systems is that if you know other people can see your progress (or lack thereof), you are more likely to follow through.

One thing I’ve been cautious about is overloading the game and tracking everything obsessively. So each week, as part of that planning session, I look to see if there’s anything I’m not doing. If so, do I need to make the reward greater? Or should I just remove it from my slate if it’s something optional? After that, I can add one, and only one, thing. This week I’ve thinking I’ll add a habit of taking a book or three out with me on walks in order to put them in some of the local Little Free Libraries; that will encourage me to do some mild decluttering and to work through my massive physical To-be-read pile.

Is Habitica going to work for everyone? Obviously no solution fits all. I’ve found it effective, and people with the same flaws I have (distractible, forgetful, and prone to procrastination) may do so as well. If you do and you’re an F&SF writer, there’s an Inkslingers Guild on there that’s fun, run by Mary Robinette Kowal. And feel free to let me know if you’re there so I can invite you to join my party – right now Sandra and I are questing to kill the Feral Dust Bunnies.

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Active Verbs

February 17, 2011

Active verbs slice to the heart of a sentence’s meaning, inject action, make prose dance with precise control.Â Active verbs cajole, captivate, charm, and compel. They lend the muscularity of manual labor, a scapel’s taxonomic precision, and the graceful sway and bob and glide and jump of a dance.

Seek out active verbs, make them your writerly quest. Enlist them in your cause and they’ll help explain a story’s nuances to a reader. Write them down on your shirt cuffs and use them to goad your sentences into performance, or suck on them in your sleep until each dream is a single verb: swim and replenish and grip.

Use verbs, but treat them kindly. Ride them hard but with the respect they deserve. You will find they reciprocate, and verbs will collect in your pockets like marvelous, multi-colored pebbles you can use to build your story.

Writing exercise: Find three verbs concerned with a particular profession and use them in a sentence that never mentions that profession or its tools. Then think about how that sentence might become a title. Then pick your favorite verb and embroider it on your pillow. Okay, I’m kidding about that last. But think about verbs, let them steep tea-strong in your mind, like catfish in the shadows of a riverbank, capable of flicking their tail and vanishing, leaving only a dark trace.

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When Can You Get Away with Wordy Prose?

August 5, 2013

The following comes from an email exchange between myself and John Barnes, whose story I critiqued and who has given permission to reprint the exchange 🙂 I know that this question often comes up for newer writers. They see writers who write long, elaborate sentences and wonder why they then get criticized for overly long and complicated sentences.

John: When you said to work on writing on a sentence /paragraph level, were you referring to sentence structure or cutting needless words? Was it well-written? Would a good play on muscle memory to intersperse the story with flashes of memory, along the lines of what Aliette De Bodarde did with immersion?

The answer to the question in the first sentence is yes to both. I think that you are at a point in your writing where you should both be looking at constructing interesting, graceful sentences as well as making sure that you remove excess words. Extraneous language often gets in the way of a story’s speaking to a reader, muffling its impact.

I thought the language was competent, but still needs the final polish that removes any awkwardness or places where the prose calls attention to itself. One of the ways a writer convinces the reader to relax and give into the experience of the story is by convincing them they are in expert hands that will keep reminders that they are reading to a minimum. Awkward sentences or passages that are overly wordy can remind a reader that they are reading and generally are experienced as a negative rather than a positive.

Absolutely a good play on muscle memory that intersperses the story with flashes of memory would be great. To make it superlative, the language needs to be constructed as clearly as possible. If you go over “Immersion,” you will see that in every sentence, words are pulling their weight and there are no extras.

John: Thanks, so keep it simple then? What about writers like Cat Valente or Laird Barron who usually have flowery prose in their writing? On Neil Clarke’s sub page for Clarkesworld he says “language is important, there’s no distinction between “style” and “substance” or “story” and “writing”. What exactly did he mean by that? I only ask because you have many stories published in their issues and that ezine is like the uncatchable unicorn for writers like me. lol Thanks again.

If you look at Cat Valente or Laird Barron’s prose you’ll see that although it is flowery, every word in it is still doing something.

To see what I mean, let’s look at a passage from both of them. Here is one of Valente’s, from Silently and Very Fast in Clakesworld:

Ravan told me these stories. He set up a great hexagonal library in his Interior, as dusty and dun-colored and labyrinthine as any ancient scriptorium. He made himself a young novice with a fresh-shaven tonsure, and me a country friar with a red, brandy-drinking nose. He showed me the illuminator’s table, and a great book whose pages had golden edges and illuminations in cobalt and oxblood and Tyrian purple, and the images showed great machine armies trampling men underfoot. They showed cruel metal faces and distant, god-like clouds of intellect: incomprehensible and vast and uncaring. They showed the Good Robot desperately asking what love was. They showed fatal malfunctions and mushroom clouds. They showed vicious weapons and hopeless battles, noble men and women with steady gazes facing down their cruel and unjust artificial children, who gave no mercy.

These are complex sentences at times. They employ poetic techniques, such as the repetition of “They showed” as well as the deliberately repeated conjunction “and” of “cobalt and oxblood and Tyrian purple”. Notice how the “They showed” becomes like pages flipping.

But there are no extraneous words, no words that are not accomplishing at least several of the following duties: constructing a world for the reader, conveying information about the world, creating a specific tone, amplifying the engaging nature of the prose with sensory detail, providing aural delight when mentally read, providing beautiful or entertaining language, etc.

Here’s a passage from Laird Barron’s Blood & Stardust, which features a protagonist that has some similarities with yours.

My nerves weren’t always so frayed; once, I was too dull to fear anything but the Master’s voice and his lash. I was incurious until my fifth or sixth birthday and thick as a brick physically and intellectually. Anymore, I read anything that doesn’t have the covers glued shut. I devour talk radio and Oprah. Consequently, my neuroses have spread like weeds. Am I getting fat? Yes, I’ve got the squat frame of a Bulgarian power lifter, but at least my moles and wens usually distract the eye from my bulging trapeziuses and hairy arms.

I also dislike the dark, and wind, and being trussed hand and foot and left hanging in a closet. Dr. Kob used to give me the last as punishment; still does it now and again, needed or not, as a reminder. Perspective is extremely important in the Kob house. The whole situation is rather pathetic, because chief among his eccentric proclivities, he’s an amateur storm chaser. Tornadoes and cyclones don’t interest him so much as lightning and its capacity for destruction and death. Up until his recent deteriorating health, we’d bundle into the van and cruise along the coast during storm season and shoot video, and perform field tests of his arcane equipment. Happily, those days seem to be gone, and none too soon. It’s rumored my predecessor, daughter numero uno, was blown to smithereens, and her ashes scattered upon the tides, during one of those summer outings.

Here again, sentences are leanly fleshed and adverbs like “rather” and “extremely” are used sparingly. Notice that sentences are not uniformly long. The average sentence is 12 words long, so let’s see how Barron’s passage maps against that. Its sentences by word count go 20/17/11/5/7/4/29/20/23/8/17/30/11/24. Looking at that, you can see how although usually sentences are longer than average, some short ones are interspersed, creating what I would describe as texture or perhaps rhythm, to the writing. Along the same lines, look at the Valente sentences by word count: 5/20/20/34/16/10/7/26.

This is important but subtle stuff, and I am not suggesting that anyone needs to go through and count the words in their sentences, just that they do need to consider length. Writers don’t have to just construct stories on the level of character and situation. They must also convey that story through sentences that are constructed as optimally as possible to deliver the experience of the story to the reader.

I think this is why it Neil Clarke is referencing on the submissions page. He wants stories that pay attention not just to the plotting, that the language in which it is conveyed and the skill with which the experience is created for the reader. This is one of the hard to acquire but essential skills that end up elevating writing from good to great, in my opinion.

John: Thanks for clearing that up, now that I look at it more closely, I can see that the sentences aren’t that complex, just seem dense when read as a whole. And there are very few “dress-up” words. Does a writer need poetic techniques to give the story quality? Asimov’s and some of the work in F&SF have pretty transparent prose?

I don’t know that a writer needs poetic techniques, but they certainly help. A story has to have some reason for the reader to want to keep going — beauty of style helps but it’s not enough. There must also be plot and the characters and the cool world-building, etc. Some writers get by on something else and stick to a very plain — and sometimes downright awkward, hence my reluctance to say “needs” — prose, but they’re going full out with killer plots or heart-wringing characters or snappy dialogue, all in spades.

For me sometimes a dense style — one with conscious use of poetic technique, symbology, and sensory input — has worked well, and it is something that seems to appeal to Clarkesworld.

Here’s a sample passage from The Worm Within, which appeared there. It’s meant to be read aloud, and plays with repeated sounds. It’s also an unreliable narrator and the sentence structures are meant to provide a sense of unease in the reader, as are some of the sensory details.

Once inside, I linger in the foyer, taking off my cloak, the clothes that drape my form as though I were some eccentric, an insistent Clothist, or anxious to preserve my limbs from rust or tarnish. Nude, I revel in my flesh, dancing in the hallway to feel the body’s sway and bend. Curved shadows slide like knives over the crossworded tiles on the floor, perfect black and white squares. If there were a mirror I could see myself.

But after only a single pirouette, my inner tenant stirs. He plucks pizzicato at my spine, each painful twang reminding me of his presence, somewhere inside.

He says, They’ll find you soon enough TICK they’ll hunt you down. They’ll realize TICK what you are, a meat-puppet in a TICK robot world, all the shiny men and women and TICK in-betweens will cry out, knowing what you are. They’ll find TICK you. They’ll find you.

Here is a section where I use plainer language, in another Clarkesworld story, “The Mermaids Singing, Each to Each”.

I tilted my head, listened to the engines, checking the rhythms to make sure everything was smooth. The familiar stutter of the water pump from behind me was nothing to worry about, or the way the ballaster coughed when it first switched on. I knew all the Mary Magdalena’s sounds. She’s old, but she works, and between the hydroengines and the solar panels, she manages to get along.

Sometimes I used to imagine crashing her on a reef and swimming away, leaving her to be covered with birdshit and seaweed, her voice lasting, pleading, as long as the batteries held out. Sometimes I used to imagine taking one of the little cutting lasers, chopping away everything but her defenseless brainbox, deep in the planking below the cabin, then severing its inputs one by one, leaving her alone. Sometimes I imagined worse things.

I inherited her from my uncle Fortunato. My uncle loved his boat like a woman, and she’d do things for him, stretch out the last bit of fuel, turn just a bit sharper, that she wouldn’t do for me or anyone else. Like an abandoned woman, pining for a lover who’d moved on. I could have the AI stripped down and retooled, re-imprint her, but I’d lose all her knowledge. Her ability to recognize me.

I tried in this passage to convey something about the main character’s emotional state. When it breaks into more poetic language with the repeated “Sometimes I used to imagine beginning each sentence” the repeated structure is intended to intensify the emotion that underlines the passage, the deep anger that the protagonist feels towards the Mary Magdalena.

In conclusion, I hope these examples have shown that studying poetry is not time wasted for a writer, particularly when learning strategies involving repeated sounds, rhythms, and figures of speech. That sort of attention to detail is what leads to the degree of skill that allows a writer to get away with “wordy” prose.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Prefer to opt for weekly interaction, advice, opportunities to ask questions, and access to the Chez Rambo Discord community and critique group? Check out Cat’s Patreon. Or sample her writing here.

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Playing at Being Motivated: Habitica for Writers

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