When you’re working a 9–5 job—or any job that drains your time and attention—it’s easy to treat the weekend like a creative safety net. A place where you’ll finally catch up. Where you’ll write the chapter you didn’t have energy for during the week. Where you’ll suddenly become the version of yourself that wakes up early, pours coffee, and writes 2000 words before the rest of the world stirs.
Sometimes that happens.
Often, it doesn’t.
And when it doesn’t, it’s easy to feel like you’ve failed. Like you had the time, so why didn’t you use it?
That’s the trap of fantasy productivity—the version of yourself that’s always focused, always rested, always creatively inspired. And like most fantasy, it doesn’t hold up well in the real world.
You’re not just a writer, you’re a person. You have a life to live, housework that needs doing, friends and family who deserve your time.
You deserve down-time as well. Every waking moment doesn’t need to be ‘productive’. The human machine needs down-time, and if you don’t let it take some, it’ll take it without your permission.
This is commonly called burnout, and I’ve been there.
It’s an ugly place.
Writing Rituals That Honour the Weekend (Without Pressuring It)
Instead of building elaborate expectations, consider building small rituals. Not routines—not schedules or word count trackers or alarm clocks. Rituals.
Things that remind you: this time is mine. This story matters.
A particular mug. A candle you only light when you’re writing. A specific playlist. Re-reading the last few lines from the day before. Five minutes of freewriting in a notebook before opening your manuscript. These aren’t obligations. They’re cues. Anchors.
They give shape to the moment and gently invite you into the work without guilt or demand.
It’s the Sunday of Easter weekend as I write this, a 3 day weekend for me.
Prime writing time, right?
I thought so. I had plans, aspirations. However, it’s also the busy season at my 9-5 job, and I’m tired. The motivation to haul myself up the literal stairs to my writing desk just wasn’t there. I gamed, both solo and with friends. I ate good meals slowly. I caught up with family.
I needed all of that.
Word count: 0.
Well, now it’s Sunday morning. I have blog posts that need writing (this one included), and maybe, after that’s done, I’ll carry on with After Checkmate. Maybe I won’t.
I’m here, at the desk where I write. I’ve done some free writing, some blog writing, and some keyboard training. I’ll do SOMETHING on my fiction, even if it’s only reading over what I’ve written.
In terms of numbers, of word count, this marks me as a failure of a writer.
In terms of who I am as a person, this is a good weekend.
I do not regret my choices.
Realistic Goals vs Fantasy Productivity
There’s a temptation to treat weekends like the make-up days for all the writing you didn’t get to during the week. You tell yourself, If I just write 4000 words this weekend, I’ll be back on track.
But you’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re a writer living in the real world, with a real life, and real limits.
So maybe the goal isn’t to “catch up.” Maybe the goal is one good scene. Or 200 words written with care. Or simply reconnecting with your story after a week away.
This is the long game. There’s no rush to the finish line.
Your writer-self needs nurturing to grow, but the same applies to every other aspect of who you are.
Be whole.
The Emotional Balance: Wanting, Needing, Forgiving
The desire to write is deep. Sometimes it’s a pressure. Sometimes it’s a yearning. But it can turn on you if you let it become a measure of your worth.
It’s okay to want to write and still not manage to.
It’s okay to need to write and still miss a day.
It’s okay to forgive yourself and try again tomorrow.
Because you don’t lose your identity as a writer when you miss a weekend. You don’t stop being a writer just because you didn’t make progress.
You’re still in the story. Even when you’re quiet. Even when you’re tired.
The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is returning.
Let’s face it, did you not think about your writing at all? These stories we tell, they live within us until they come out onto the page. Even when you’re not sitting with hands on keyboard, with words appearing on the screen before you, you’re still a writer.
Let It Count, However It Comes
So if this weekend you write a thousand words—excellent.
If you write ten—good.
If you just sit with your story for a few quiet minutes—still progress.
You don’t have to earn your identity as a writer. You just have to keep returning to it, however you can.
Even on the weekends.