2 months ago, I lost the draft of my book, Magnetic Writing, when my phone was robbed and my mac wiped.

I was devastated. I’d written 140,000 words over a year, and the thought of investing that much time again filled me with dread. But then I heard writer Nat Eliason say how he wrote 5,000 words per day for the second draft of his book.

I decided to give it a go.

2 week ago, I finished the (new) first draft. It took 33 days, and I averaged 3,688 words per day—including fulfilling my client work, creating content, and going on holiday.

What helped the most had nothing to do with working harder.

What I learned from the writing challenge

A while back, I tweeted this:

Rewriting the book was an interesting challenge on this take. I can write 1,000-1,500 words an hour, but rarely for 5 hours a day (the quality drops off pretty dramatically at hour 3).

A typical day looks like this:

• Wake up, stretch, journal, and read until my mind doesn’t feel like a potato (usually an hour after waking).
• 90 minutes of deep work
• 30 minutes rest
• 90 minutes of deep work
• 2 hours rest (gym, lunch)
• 60 minutes of deep work
• 20 minutes rest
• 60 minutes of deep work
• Crawl onto the sofa and ask Carolina to stroke my hair
• Do client work, walk, read & relax

But I’ll be honest: when writing the first version of Magnetic Writing, I struggled to execute the work periods well. I now understand what Tim Ferriss meant when he said a book will demand a lot from you, and that you have to be willing to go all in.

When I found myself tired or overwhelmed, which was more than I’d like to admit, I would flick over to Twitter, or hop on Slack, or do anything but face the work.

This became a horrible loop. I would complain that I didn’t have enough time, then use my time poorly, which makes me feel agitated because I didn’t have enough time.

Three simple decisions made all the difference (the third being the most important).

First, I began working to a timer. It sounds basic, but a timer is a great accountability tool. I used Liquid Timer, which would overlay Scrivener, my book-writing software, and pause it every time I stopped working. I quickly realised 90 minutes of deep work was more like 120 minutes, which became a strong incentive to work intensely for the 90 instead.

Second, I activated locked mode on Freedom. If you don’t know Freedom, it is an app-blocking software. I normally block social media/email on my phone and laptop for 16 hours of the day. But I never used locked mode until now, and damn, I am sorry I didn’t. Locked mode stops you from shutting the software down. The relief my body feels when I physically can’t get on is palpable. And then I just get back to work.

Third, I took deep rest as seriously as my deep work. I’ve never been great at resting. A lot of my self-worth is tied to my productivity, so I feel guilty when I take proper downtime. But the more I write, the more I realise that rest is where the magic happens.

Let me explain.

In the past, I would check social media between work sessions. I’d listen to podcasts at the gym and watch YouTube while I eat. I’d take calls or devour more podcasts when walking. I thought the more I consumed, the smarter I would become. But the end result was that I finished most days flat-out exhausted. And often unfulfilled, too. I’d be left wondering, ‘is this it?’—which again, triggers a harder working loop as I try to improve what was wrong.

The book challenge helped cut through the bullshit. I knew I had to rest more, but I didn’t expect how effective and enjoyable it was.

Here’s what I found:

The best way to rest your mind is to be in your body. I first stumbled across body awareness when I began Somatic Therapy. As a person who used to pride himself on thinking all of the time, it has been nothing short of life-changing. The body has a lot to offer that your brain does not.

Calm, clarity, creativity—you don’t think your way to these things, you feel them.

For example, in between my first deep work sessions, I will walk for 20 minutes and try to be as present as possible. I feel the pressure soles of my feet, enjoy the sun on my skin as I wait for my coffee, and breathe the fresh air as I listen to the conversation around me. The phone stays at home.

After the second deep work block, I am creatively tapped. So I hit the gym, but without podcasts. I try to focus on the feeling of exercise. This becomes meditative in itself. Then I enjoy some food and get back to writing. If I need another rest, I’ll meditate, stretch, or take another walk.

At the end of the day, I would actually try to switch off—because I knew the better I slept, the better I’d write tomorrow.

The decision to rest would take work. I’m finding it harder to slow down, especially the more powerful Claude gets. I’m well aware of the paradox that the more AI I use to save time in my business, the less time I feel like I have. But that’s an essay for another time.

Some days I would break my commitment. And every time I paid the price. I’d end up more tired, with less good work, and a lot more frustration. As I entered the second half of my book, I had learned enough to listen to this signal. I did my work, I enjoyed my peace, and I put in the reps.

The end result was 121,700 words in 33 days.

And, if I’m honest, a better version of my first attempt. Of course, some of that was through memory. But most of it was through not just being present in the work, but present in the rest, too.

I know this isn’t the sexiest message—you can’t exactly meditate your way to a million dollars. But the older I get, the more I am convinced being in a hurry is a terrible way to live your life.

Not just from a peace perspective, but from a productive perspective, too.

The magic happens in the space,

Kieran