The Effect of Positive Mental Health on Writing Output
If we want to write every day we’ve got to take care of the engine inside

I’m a single test subject. I get it. I’ve got no secret lab where I shelve thousands of writers, poking and prodding them for their deepest secrets. But I do have me. And I’ll bet if mental health affects my writing as much as it does, yours is probably similar.
Writing is a strange vocation. We sit alone, live in our heads, and bring new life to an otherwise empty page.
Some of us write fiction and some write non. But all put words to paper. And those words come directly from our melons. Like most writers, I’m an introvert. As an introvert I mull things over a lot. I need my head clear to process the internal ruckus which requires some output.
If I have a bad mental health day — whether I’m depressed, I’m arguing with someone close to me, or I struggle with self-worth — those are the days which make writing feel like punishment. I’ll do anything to avoid it. And although I write every day now, I still struggle with this issue.
Herein lies the rub.
I know if I write I’ll feel more productive about my work. My self-worth will increase and the added accomplishment will boost my morale. The drive to complete the day’s word-count surpasses the depression. When I write I feel great about myself. Not necessarily great output, I’ve learned to separate myself from the work. But I feel great about the act of writing.
I know all these things will happen once I get started, but starting IS the problem. When you’re mental health is low, starting feels like poison.
As writers, our work is so connected to our mental health our output is hobbled every time we have a rough day. It’s not always possible to psych yourself up to write. Sometimes you can’t shake it off and keep typing. Sometimes you want to crawl in a hole.
We’ve got to fight to protect our mental health
Whether that means avoiding toxic people or developing habits that give our brains a little armor (like meditation). As writers it’s critical we see the direct correlation between mental health and writing output — doing our best to protect these sacred tools.
Our work is cerebral. Whether we’ve got monkeys flying from castles, or we cover the war of 1812, the engine in our skull must feel good enough to paint the right picture for the reader.
I don’t have all the answers here. But I do have one answer (in a minute).
I know recognition of the problem goes a long way — and it all goes back to mindfulness. When we recognize how we feel and we accept it instead of avoid it, the road to recovery is much faster.
And I’m not talking about deep, clinical depression. I’m talking about the daily process of being a human.
We recognize there’s a problem — step one.
We can’t be happy all the time. Not only is it impossible, but we wouldn’t like it if it were. We’ve got to run the gamut of emotions to feel whole. Nope, depression or sadness don’t feel like welcomed guests, but they serve a valuable purpose.
When we recognize that we WILL have bad days — guaranteed, not we MIGHT have bad days, then we can grow and adapt.
We don’t have to be these starving-artist, depressed Hemingways — with a typewriter in one hand, a rocks glass on the counter and a shotgun in the other. When we accept what comes our way we’ve taken the first step.
So, how do we write no matter what?
How do we muster the willpower, courage, or discipline to sit our asses on that worn chair, crack our knuckles, and bang-out a couple thousand coherent words?
How do we stay productive writers even in the face of being human?
We can build homes, cut grass, mend fences, wash clothes, enter data in spreadsheets, direct traffic, fly planes, even perform surgery when we’ve got poor mental health. But try writing in that condition. Writing is the exception.
We can’t be both mindless and write, simultaneously.
You can drive mindlessly. We can stuff our feelings in a sack and function at the latest board meeting. But you go try character development, a serious plot twist, or a compelling how-to book while you feel terrible inside. Yeah, no way, Wally.
So, I’ll give you what I’m trying now. I’m no mental health expert. But I am a writer who collects many down days. And I do a few things to help me start writing.
Because starting is the key to everything.
Once I start writing, all the mental issues don’t feel so bad. It’s the beginning part — that’s the tall hurdle. My process may seem stupid-simple. And it is. But this works for me right now. It may not work tomorrow, but it works today. And maybe it’ll work for you.
How to start writing when life just punched you in the crotch:
- Recognize and accept your feelings. This is single-moment mindfulness. We pause, take a deep breath, and allow ourselves to accept we feel lousy.
- Tell yourself you need to write today. But don’t start yet. Give yourself time to feel lousy, but not too long. You’ve now given yourself a hard deadline. And we can’t let the boss down.
- Change your environment. Whether you move to a different room, a different location, or a different state, our environment effects our mental state. If you feel terrible in one place, don’t stay there. You’ll just keep feeling bad.
- Get your ass to work, Sally/Rick. Remember, writing is really a vocation. Maybe we can’t do it mindlessly, but we can look at the process as a job we must complete. We may not feel 100% today, but we KNOW we’ll feel better once we get started. Starting is the one process that relies on pure willpower. The rest is flow — but the starting — it’s hard. Starting is always hard.
That’s it. This is the way I’m dealing with writing on bad days. I hope it helps you too.
When we can separate our vocation from our mental health, not only can we get started faster, but we can also boost our happiness in the process. When we stop putting our writing on a pedestal, we get to work and the act of working solves the problems for us.
We need you to feel better. We want to read your writing. But we can’t do that if you don’t finish it. It’s time to get back in the chair. We’re here when you’re ready.
We’re waiting for you.
August Birch (AKA the Book Mechanic) is both a fiction and non-fiction author from Michigan, USA. A self-proclaimed guardian of writers and creators, August teaches indie authors how to write books that sell and how to sell more of those books once they’re written. When he’s not writing or thinking about writing August carries a pocket knife and shaves his head with a safety razor.
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