No Time to Write? Everyday Songwriting Habits for Real Life

Photo Credit: Galina Zhgalova (iStock)

If you’ve ever said, “I don’t have time to write songs,” you’re not alone. All creatives have felt that way at some point, and I’m certainly no exception. Life has a tendency to get full — with people who need us, jobs that demand us, and days that rarely go to plan. Sometimes it feels like there’s barely enough room to think, let alone create.

But what if the problem isn’t really a lack of time? What if it’s something subtler — a matter of how we approach time, how we think creative work is supposed to look? When we tell ourselves there’s no time to write, what we often mean is that there’s no perfect time — and so we don’t write at all. Little by little, something that once felt vital starts to feel like a luxury, and we drift further from the part of ourselves that longs to create.

And yet, deep down, we know intrinsically that our songwriting matters. It’s how we process, connect, and make sense of the world. We feel it in the background, tugging at us when life gets noisy. We tell ourselves we’ll write when things calm down, when inspiration hits, when we finally feel deserving of the time. But those perfect conditions rarely arrive. The result is a quiet tug-of-war inside — a tension between knowing that our art deserves space, and behaving as though it doesn’t.

So if we know that songwriting matters, why do we still find it so hard to make time for it — and what can we do about it?

The Invisible Resistance

If you’ve ever found yourself rearranging drawers, wiping down kitchen counters, or suddenly feeling very invested in answering emails the moment you sit down to write, you’ve met resistance.

Steven Pressfield calls it the invisible force that rises up whenever we try to create something meaningful. His book The War of Art — one of our Book Circle picks earlier this year — describes it perfectly: resistance isn’t laziness, it’s fear. Fear of exposure, fear of failure, fear of discovering what’s really waiting to come out.

Sometimes it hides behind imposter thoughts — that voice that says, “Who am I to call myself a songwriter?” (If that sounds familiar, you might like our earlier post on imposter syndrome for songwriters.)

When we’ve been away from songwriting for a while, resistance grows stronger. It whispers, “You’re out of practice. You’ve lost it. Don’t start — you’ll only prove yourself right.” It can be gentle or sneaky or downright loud. Sometimes it shows up as busyness — a kind of productive avoidance that feels safe because it’s familiar. But no matter how it disguises itself, the intention is the same: to protect us from vulnerability.

Once you learn to recognise resistance, you start noticing its patterns. And the moment you can name it, you can soften it — not by forcing yourself to power through, but by gently giving creativity a seat at the table anyway. You don’t have to win a battle. You just have to show up long enough to remind yourself that the door still opens.

The Fear of Opening the Lid

Sometimes what holds us back isn’t just time or energy — it’s the fear of what might spill out once we start. Songwriting asks us to feel, and that can be daunting. After a long day of holding everything else together, it can seem easier to keep the lid closed than to risk opening it.

There’s also a quieter fear — the worry that if we do open the lid, we won’t be able to stop. That we’ll lose track of time, fall into the flow, and neglect everything else that demands us. It’s that paradox of longing for creative immersion but also fearing the cost of it.

But writing doesn’t always have to mean diving deep straight away. It can also mean collecting — letting yourself gather scraps, thoughts, or melodies without the pressure to finish anything.

If you’ve been away from writing for a while, think of this as stretching before you run. You’re waking up the muscles, loosening the joints. You’re reminding your creative self that you’re still here, ready when she is.

You don’t have to write the whole song. You just have to begin noticing again — to listen for the fragments that want your attention.

Finding the Little Moments

We often assume we need long, uninterrupted hours to write — but good things can come in small packages, and creativity’s no exception. Some of the best songs begin in tiny bursts of time: a few minutes here, a spark there. The truth is, many of us already have small windows in our days that could hold space for songwriting if we used them differently.

Try this:

• Hum a melody into your voice memos while walking the dog or driving.

• Brainstorm song titles while waiting for the kettle to boil or the microwave to ping.

• Let your mind play with word connections — rhymes, associations, or phrases that sound good together — while folding the laundry or washing the car.

  
  

These aren’t throwaway moments. They’re your practice. They keep your creative reflexes alive — your songwriter’s way of staying connected, even when time is tight.

If you’re not sure where these moments fit in, do a quick mental time audit. Notice the pockets of your day that could hold creative potential — your journey to work, a lunch break, or the five quiet minutes before bed. Even short bursts of focus can keep your creative muscle active.

You might also find it helpful to link creative habits to routines you already have — a technique known as habit stacking, which we explored in January’s Book Circle pick, Atomic Habits by James Clear. Try pairing songwriting with something already familiar: “After I close my laptop for the day, I’ll spend ten minutes sketching lyric ideas,” or “When I finish my evening meal, I’ll listen back to a voice memo and expand on one idea.”

By pairing songwriting with everyday actions, creativity becomes part of your life’s rhythm rather than something that competes with it.

Because songwriting doesn’t only happen at your desk. It happens in the cracks and corners of everyday life — the moments we reclaim from autopilot. And when you start seeing those gaps as invitations rather than obstacles, you realise that time to write was there all along.

That’s the beauty of everyday songwriting.

Staying Connected Through Community

Creativity may start in solitude, but it flourishes in connection. When you surround yourself with other songwriters — people who understand the stops and starts, the dry spells and the doubts — it becomes easier to stay engaged with your own.

Belonging to a songwriting community like We Write Songs helps keep that part of you awake. Seeing how others carve out time for creativity in the middle of full, messy lives can spark ideas for your own. Their small wins remind you that progress doesn’t have to be dramatic — it just has to continue.

Community gently holds you accountable, but it also reminds you why you love this in the first place. It keeps songwriting on your radar and gives you a reason to keep noticing, collecting, and showing up.

And on the days when you still feel far from your craft, it reminds you: you’re not starting over — you’re simply coming home.

Final Thoughts: Everyday Songwriting Habits

Maybe the challenge was never really about time at all, but trust — trusting that small, simple creative acts matter.

The truth is, most of us do have time to write — just not always in the shape we expect. When we start noticing and reclaiming those in-between moments, creativity stops being something we wait for and becomes something we live alongside.

Because every hum, every line, every fleeting lyric idea keeps your songwriting alive, one little moment at a time. Little by little, those choices become the backbone of your everyday songwriting habits — a creative rhythm that feels natural, flexible, and sustainable.

When we believe our songs have a place in the world, it becomes easier to protect time for them — even in small ways. Honouring our creativity reminds us that it matters just as much as everything else we pour ourselves into. And when we nurture that part of ourselves, we show up more fully for the rest of life too.

So don’t wait for the perfect stretch of silence or the grand idea. Begin in the middle of your life — with its noise, its laundry, its tired evenings — and trust that the smallest spark is still enough to light the way back.

💬 Over to You

How do you make space for songwriting in your everyday life?

What small habits, routines, or moments help you stay creatively connected — even when time feels tight?

Share your thoughts in the comments — I’d love to hear how you keep your songwriting spark alive.

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