The Power of Words Inside Your Brain

Sometimes I find it hard to get started.

Ironically, this happens most when I have too much time to write. You’d think a wide-open afternoon or a quiet weekend would be ideal—a golden opportunity to sink into the novel, churn out a short story, or finally respond to one of those tempting calls for flash fiction. But instead, my brain spins. It cycles. It loops. And nothing begins. Nothing gets done.

It’s like being in a candy store and getting overwhelmed by choice. Novel? Short story? Flash? That half-finished weird thing I saved in a folder marked “maybe”? The freedom that should feel expansive instead becomes stifling. I get stuck—not from lack of inspiration, but from too many possibilities. And that indecision turns quickly into inertia.

Today, I tried a trick I’ve used before: I made a list. I wrote down everything I could possibly tackle, with the hope that the simple act of organizing would unjam my creative engine. I’m one of those people who loves checking things off. The dopamine hit of a disappearing list is real. Turning the nebulous fog of “writing time” into a set of discrete, conquerable items has helped before.

But not today.

Today, the list itself felt heavy. The list stared back at me like a to-do board at work. Too many items. Too many obligations. And worse—it was labeled “Tasks.”

Tasks.

Let’s pause there. Because if words matter anywhere, they matter here. And “tasks”? What a bleak little label. Did you ever thrill as a child when your teacher said, “I have a task for you”? Did your heart sing when your parent reminded you of your Saturday tasks? No. Tasks are what we have to do. Not what we want to do. Not what lights us up.

It was a small shift, but I renamed the list. Not “Tasks.” Not “Projects” (ugh, even more corporate). Not “Goals” (too rigid). Instead, I called them Adventures.

And something shifted.

It was subtle, but real. An adventure is something I choose. Something unknown, maybe challenging, but filled with potential. Something I can step into rather than feel weighed down by. I looked at my list again—“Start that weird necromancer story,” “Tinker with the flash about stolen dreams,” “Explore POV shifts in chapter six”—and I felt not dread, but curiosity.

Words matter. We know this. As writers, we should know this. And yet it’s easy to forget that the words we direct inward—to ourselves—are just as powerful as the ones we polish for readers. “Task” says burden. “Adventure” says possibility.

Will this trick always work? Probably not. But today, it got me started.

And maybe that’s the real magic—not in the productivity, but in the alchemy of language itself. The way a simple rename can shift your mood, your momentum, even your day.

Efficiency is fine. But me? I’ll take magic. Every time.