By Susan Watts

Most writers work within rules they never consciously choose.

Some limits are obvious. Time. Energy. Life. Others slip in quietly and stay because they sound reasonable. After a while, they stop feeling like choices and start feeling like facts.

I think of these as assumed constraints. They’re limits we accept without checking whether they still apply.

There’s a familiar story about elephants that explains this better than any writing advice I’ve heard. When an elephant is young, it’s tied with a heavy chain it can’t break. After enough failed attempts, it stops trying. Years later, the chain is replaced with a thin rope. By then, the elephant doesn’t test it. It doesn’t need to. The belief does the work.

Writers do this all the time.

Something happens early on. A rejection. A comment. A rough experience. That moment turns into a rule. We get stronger, and the rule stays.

I’ve done this myself.

I’ve trained and taught martial arts for over forty years, and this shows up constantly. A student decides they’re not flexible or fast enough. Not because they’ve really tested that limit, but because something early convinced them it wasn’t worth trying. My job at that point is to help them push through that limiting belief. Training can be uncomfortable because it proves something earlier than you’re ready to accept. You’re often capable well before you feel confident about it.

For example, one of my students was small for his age and thought he couldn’t defeat the bigger kids.  But he was incredibly fast.  I worked with him on using that speed to his advantage, mainly improving his footwork.  At first, he felt awkward and often became frustrated. But eventually, the bigger kids couldn’t keep up with him, and he beat them.

Writing tends to follow the same pattern of assumed constraints.

One of the most common rules writers carry involves conditions. “I can’t write unless I have uninterrupted time.” Time helps. I won’t argue with that. But when it becomes a requirement, writing only happens when everything lines up. Which means it rarely happens at all.

This is where small tests matter. Not big, dramatic pushes. Just low-pressure ways to gather information. Writing for ten minutes and stopping. Writing one paragraph while distracted. Jotting down notes instead of waiting for the “real” session. These tests don’t ask you to perform. They just ask you to show up briefly and see what happens.

Another rule forms around voice or genre. We decide we’re not funny. Or we can’t write darker material. Or this is just how we sound. Most of the time, that decision traces back to one moment that landed harder than it should have.

Small tests here might look like rewriting a single scene with a slightly different tone. Pushing a paragraph quieter, sharper, or more playful than usual. Writing a page you never plan to keep. The point isn’t to prove you’ve suddenly changed. It’s seeing whether the rule really holds once you give yourself permission to try.

Productivity rules can be just as limiting. Some writers think speed proves they’re doing it right. Others believe moving slowly means they’re failing. I’ve believed both at different times. Writing doesn’t move at one pace. Drafting, revising, and thinking all ask for different speeds.

A small test might mean tracking time instead of word count for a week. Or working on a single beat and stopping before momentum turns into pressure. Or deliberately writing less and noticing whether the work actually suffers. Often, the fear of slowing down is louder than the consequences.

What makes small tests effective is that they don’t threaten your identity. You’re not declaring yourself a different kind of writer. You’re not committing to a new system. You’re just collecting evidence.

Not all constraints are bad. Some are useful.

Deadlines can help. Structure can help. A clear framework can keep a project from drifting. These limits guide the work without shutting it down.

The problem is the rules that stop you from starting. The ones that sound final. “I can’t.” “I’m not.” “That’s just how I work.” Those don’t shape the work. They fence it in. In my martial arts school (dojo), students are not allowed to use the word can’t. I teach them to say, “I may not be able to do (fill in the blank) right now, but I will if I keep training.”

When you challenge an assumed constraint, writing often gets uncomfortable. It might feel slower. Less certain. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. In training, that’s usually a sign something is adapting. The body adjusts before the mind catches up. Writing does the same thing.

You don’t need to tear down every limit you have. Some of them exist for good reasons. But it’s worth checking which ones you’ve outgrown. Most change doesn’t come from breakthroughs. It comes from small tests that don’t carry pressure or expectation.

Over time, those tests do something important. They replace assumptions with experience. And once experience enters the picture, the rules start to loosen on their own.

A Short Exercise: Test One Rule

If you want to try this, keep it simple.

Write down one rule you believe about your writing.
Ask where it came from.
Choose a test so small it feels almost pointless.

That test might be:

• Writing for ten minutes and stopping
• Drafting one paragraph in a different tone
• Working without fixing anything
• Writing somewhere imperfect

Then, notice what actually happens. Not whether the work is good. Just whether the rule still holds.

You’re not proving anything. You’re just checking the result.

Because most of the time, the thing holding you in place isn’t lack of ability. It’s a rule you learned early and never thought to revisit.

About Susan

Under the pen name Michelle Allums, Susan Watts has authored a young adult urban fantasy titled, The Jade Amulet and is currently writing the sequel. Her short stories are also included in the anthologies Christmas Roses and Forever and Always.

Susan has dedicated over four decades to training in multiple martial arts styles and holds the impressive title of a five-time US Karate Alliance world black belt fighting grand champion. Through her karate school, she is able to impart martial arts and life skills. Susan also incorporates her martial arts knowledge into her writing.

An avid triathlete, she keeps in shape by running, biking, and swimming. She lives in the country with her husband, where they raise animals and enjoy being outdoors. Susan also has three grown children and numerous grandchildren. In addition, she is a CPA and VP of finance for a company in her hometown. 

You can connect with Susan on social media or her website.

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