I periodically get bored while writing—bored, that is, while I’m actually composing. I can be disciplined when I have to and force myself to keep going in spite of yawning and disinterest. But over the years, I’ve learned to see the sense of boredom as a red flag.

As boredom emerges, I stop, make a mental note of the sensation, and recognize that it may simply come from writing something rote. Something uncreative. Something uninspired and mediocre. And if all I can write is something uninspired, not only will I become bored, so will my readers.

Bored from the regurgitation of old thinking. Bored from the borrowing of overused structures. Bored from the use of cliché wording, and so on. Boredom comes from a mind on autopilot. You find you’re not adding to the conversation, not raising the level of insight., and not furthering the journey of discovery.

Boredom, I find, is easy to confuse with another sensation—that “oh-my-god-writing-is-hard-work” feeling. The hard-work sensation feels somewhat the same, producing a similar reaction: Ugh, I hardly have the willpower to keep at this task. But boredom vanishes—even morphs into passion—when you recognize it and make an effort to overcome it.

So when you feel bored, give yourself a mental checkup. Are you just coasting, dishing out mediocrity? Nobody, including you, wants to read second-class writing. The pall of disinterest can signal that you should switch off autopilot. (A bit of coffee can help, too.) You’ll have more fun, and so will your readers.

[Revised January 2020. Originally published September 8, 2011]