I get a lot of questions about my daily writing habits. In a nutshell, I wake up early (about an hour before my daughter), feed our pets, pour myself a cup of coffee, and sit at my computer. If I’m being disciplined, I ignore social media and read the day’s Writer’s Almanac poem for a bit of inspiration. Then I read the last few paragraphs of what I wrote yesterday and make a few line edits. That gets me back into the story. Then I write for about 1,000 words.

This is my design.

Sorry, I’ve been watching a lot of Hannibal episodes lately. I couldn’t resist.

All serial killer thrill pop culture references aside, that’s it in a nutshell. I write 1,000 words. It takes about an hour, depending on how the words are flowing and whether or not my cat yaks on the floor. Plus, it’s easy to track on the running word count feature in Word. For me, 1,000 words is an ideal amount, because:

It’s achievable.
It keeps me at my computer and gives me a goal to shoot for that I can reasonably achieve every day. It’s an hour that I can give each day and still be a good dad, worker, and friend.

It keeps me from going too far.
Even if I’m in the middle of a scene that I’m absolutely enjoying, I’ll still stop when I hit the 1,000-word mark. Why? Because I’ll be excited to start right there again tomorrow. Like Kenny Rogers said, you gotta know when to walk away—and know when to run. Except you always count your words while you’re sitting at the table.

Side type: if possible, always stop writing each day mid-scene. It’s much easier to pick up where you left off than to start a new scene.

It’s sustainable.
I’m fairly confident that I could write 1,000 words a day and never run out of things to say. In the years that I’ve been doing it, I’ve never walked away drained of story. With the limits of time and energy that I currently have, I can write 1,000 words in perpetuity without draining whatever creative reserves I keep in my demented little brain.

Some authors do more than 1,000 words and some do less. Maybe 1,000 words works for you. Maybe more or less is better. Play around with it and see what works for you. This is your design.

Lately, my daughter and I have been watching episodes of Dogs with Jobs on Netflix, a charming show that profiles canines who have jobs—everything from sheepherders to arson dogs, actors to surrogate moms for baby cheetahs. The show’s always good for a few laughs and occasionally some tears.

Just as dogs can perform a number of jobs in human society, they also have a variety of lessons to teach us. Here are a few tidbits I’ve learned from watching the show (and from having a few dogs) that apply to writing.

1) Treat yourself.

To say that these dogs are enthusiastic workers is an understatement. But why are they so happy to be doing their labors? Because they get treats, that’s why. In almost every profile we’ve watched, the main motivation for the dogs is a treat. Likewise, be sure to give yourself little rewards, too, be it for hitting your daily word count, submitting a story for publication, or doing some form of marketing. Treat yourself to a cup of coffee, a new book, a dog biscuit, or peeing on a tree. Whatever works!

2) Your job is your identity.

These dogs don’t just do their jobs. They are their jobs. Whether it’s a companion animal in a nursing home or a disaster rescue specialist, the job is part of who they are. So don’t just write. Be a writer. Writing isn’t just something you do. It’s who you are. At your most basic core level, be a writer. We write because we’re not being true to ourselves if we don’t.

For your characters, think about how their job shapes them, what it says about them, and how it affects their day-to-day lives.

3) Game your writing.

Whether they’re chasing geese off a golf course or sniffing out drugs at the Mexican border, these dogs are always wagging their tails. Why? Because for them, work isn’t work. It’s a game. These furry guys are busting their asses but they’re also enjoying themselves. So, try approaching your writing in the same playful spirit. Yes, yes, I know . . . writing is hard work. But you know what? Sex can be hard work, too, but it’s also oodles of fun (unless you’re doing something very wrong).

In summary, write like a dog, treat yourself, be a writer, be playful when you write, and shake your tail while you’re having sex.

Many books and websites are devoted to explaining how, when, and what authors write, but it seems like I haven’t seen all that much about why the hell we do this thing. Why do we—grown adults, mind you—spend several hours a week shut off from our loved ones making up stories?

We could be devoting that creative energy to painting pictures to share with the world. We could be in rock bands, jamming into the wee hours. We could be walking, drinking, running, living, loving, dancing, cooking, clapping, or any number of other activities.

And yet, we write. Why?

I write because I’m a dad.

Before my daughter was born, I mostly wrote poetry. Shortly after becoming a dad, I suddenly had stories to tell. I’m not sure what the connection is, but I’m grateful for it. Maybe being a dad caused me to put down the roots necessary to spawn a novel. Maybe I wanted to create some kind of legacy for my daughter. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to ramble on…

I write because I’m an anxious asshole otherwise.

By nature, I tend toward anxiousness. My brain is like a wild dog. Given free reign, it’ll wander into the most horrible notions and nightmarish scenarios. But when I’m working on a story (and I’m always working on a story, every day), my mind chews on those characters instead of me. So, I think about terrible things that can happen to my characters, instead of me. Sucks to be them. Yay me.

I write because I’m good at it.

As early as high school, I knew I had a knack for writing. Be it an essay written after donating blood and downing a beer or an exercise in metaphors, I was good at wrasslin’ words.

I write because I have a story to tell.

The thing is, I suck at telling stories. I can tell a joke. I can toss out a one-liner. But telling a good story—like out loud? Not my strong point. It’s something I’m working on, though. But I enjoy telling a story in print. Writing it out gives me the time to massage the story into something more coherent and (hopefully) entertaining.

I write because I read.

When I was a wee boy, I used to leave the Enon Mound Library most every week with a ginormous stack of books. I’d spend hours immersed in the adventures of the Hardy Boys or struggling through one of Sherlock Holmes’ cases. I loved losing myself between those pages, imagining everything happening between the lines. The thought that I can do that for someone else—that I can provide a similar experience for other readers—is frankly mind-blowing. It humbles and delights me.

I write because it’s easy.

Yeah, I said it. Writing comes easy to me. I don’t struggle through writer’s block. I don’t beg and plead with my muse. I don’t brood for days and days about my characters. I’m not saying that I don’t work at it. Oh, hell. I work my ass off. I work hard at writing, but it isn’t hard work.

I write because I like to make blank pages darker.

Yeah, that’s kinda my tagline. I figure if I mention it often enough, it’ll catch on.

I write because I like to make people laugh.

During my day job, the absolute best part of my day is when I email something to someone, and they email me back to tell me that my words made them laugh out loud. I take great joy in bringing a smile to someone’s face through the written word. I figure it’s easy in-person. You can use inflection and funny faces and sometimes sound effects. But to make some smile—nay, laugh—just through a bunch of neatly arranged letters? That’s bad ass.

I write because it’s hard.

I love epic roadtrips, long hikes, big ideas, and heart attack-inducing workouts. I’m naturally attracted to tasks of great scale, almost superhuman achievement. And really, writing a novel is just such a thing. It takes about an hour to write a thousand words. If you figure a novel to be around 50,000 words, that’s 50 hours—over two days—sitting and typing, not even including rewrites and revisions and final edits. Think about the sheer will it takes to do that. It’s epic in every sense of the word.

I write because it’s fun.

I genuinely enjoy creating new characters and putting them in exciting—often dreadful—situations. They always surprise me in the end. The story never goes quite like I expect it to. I create the characters, but in many ways they create the story. And it’s a blast to discover it with them.

So, those are some of the reasons I write. The list above is not all-inclusive, and I expect I’ll eventually do a sequel post to this one someday soon, listing still more reasons. Thank you for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Oh, and I guess that brings me to one last reason . . .

I write because of you.