Yes, I am aware the title is a bit long, however, it says what it needs to. Every January, the world feels like it’s brimming with possibility. The calendar resets, and so do our ambitions. For writers, this often means making a bold promise: This year, I will finish my novel. It’s a beautiful resolution, but let’s be honest—writing a manuscript is no small feat. It’s a marathon of creativity, discipline, and resilience. And if you live with ADHD or Autism, the journey can feel even more complex, with unique challenges around focus, executive functioning, and sensory regulation.
My story
Before I was diagnosed later in life with ADHD, the resolutions from January often became last-minute and desperate efforts in December. Haunting me the entire year, yet somehow never addressed until the last possible moment (if at all). While everyone is 100% responsible for their own actions, my diagnosis explained the why. Why some tasks seemed to be insurmountable, while logically they should be manageable. It quickly became painfully obvious that I had been fighting against my own brain. A losing battle indeed.
The concepts and suggestion in this post may seem hokey. Perhaps you have read them many times before. I won’t claim anything here is new or unique. I will only say they work for me. The fact that the website you are looking at exists is testament to that fact. Getting Word Weaver Pro to where it is now — a product many find invaluable, and one I am deeply proud of — has taken literally years of effort. Consistent, dedicated, focused effort. While I do love writing prose, writing code that helps others make their stories transform from ideas swirling in someone’s head to a real manuscript has become my passion.
Let’s look at what I have written in code and compare that to a manuscript:
On average, the number of characters (including spaces) in a text depends on the average word length. In English, a typical word is about 5 letters, and when you add a space after each word, that’s roughly 6 characters per word.
So for an 80,000 - 90,000-word novel, it’s about half-a-million.
By working with my ADHD, instead of against it, I have written about 1 million characters of code over the last three years. That’s just the raw code I produced — not all the various libraries, images and code produced by the other developers. Just mine. While PHP, JavaScript and CSS code is not the same as a novel, it’s roughly equivalent to two full-length novels in character count.
This is someone who’s ADHD was rated as “Severe Predominantly Inattentive Presentation.”
Here’s the truth: you can do this. Not by sheer willpower alone, but by building a system that works for your brain and your life. This isn’t scientific… but… if I can do it, anyone can!
Enough about me, let’s dive into practical strategies, real-world examples, and mindset shifts that will help you turn your resolution into reality.
Start with your “why” and make it visible
Before you write a single word, pause and ask yourself: Why does this matter to me? Maybe you’ve carried this story for years, and it’s begging to be told. Maybe finishing a novel feels like proof that you can follow through on something big. Or maybe it’s about creating a legacy—a piece of art that outlives you.
Write down your reason. Put it somewhere you’ll see every day: on a sticky note by your desk, as your phone wallpaper, or even taped to your laptop. When ADHD makes your attention wander or Autism makes the process feel overwhelming, that reminder will anchor you. It’s not just about writing—it’s about honoring your purpose.
Shrink the mountain: break it into pebbles
A full manuscript—80,000 words or more—can feel like staring up at Everest. For neurodivergent brains, that sense of enormity can trigger paralysis. The solution? Break the mountain into pebbles.
Instead of “write a novel,” think:
Write for 15 minutes today.
Draft one scene this week.
Outline the first act by Friday.
Micro-goals reduce friction. For ADHD, they make starting less intimidating. For Autism, they create structure and predictability.
This is exactly why Word Weaver Pro breaks everything down into components. You can write just once scene, all by itself. You can detail a character or location. Maybe do some research by gathering information on your setting. Each small piece is tracked and managed separately, then connected to the whole.
The fact is, if you are feeling inspired to work on some small piece of the whole, then that creativity should be engaged right then. Often that creativity continues on to other elements of your story. One writer I know with ADHD swears by a rule: “If I can’t bring myself to start an hour session, I’ll start for five minutes.” Often, those five minutes turn into fifty.
Build a writing environment that loves your brain
Your surroundings matter more than you think. ADHD thrives on novelty but struggles with distraction. Autism often craves sensory stability. So, design your space intentionally.
If noise derails you, try noise-canceling headphones or ambient sound apps like Coffitivity or Noisli. If visual clutter overwhelms you, clear your desk and keep only essentials. Some writers with Autism find comfort in weighted blankets or soft textures nearby. Others with ADHD use standing desks to channel restless energy.
Experiment until you find your sweet spot. And remember: your environment isn’t just physical—it’s digital. Use apps that block social media during writing sessions. Turn off notifications. Protect your focus like it’s gold—because it is.
Harness tools that work with your brain, not against it
Technology can be your ally. Voice-to-text software like Dragon or built-in dictation tools can help if typing feels slow or frustrating. Project management apps like Trello or Notion can organize plot points visually, which is great for ADHD’s love of dynamic layouts and Autism’s preference for clear structure.
Timers are magic. The Pomodoro technique—25 minutes of writing, 5 minutes of break—can transform overwhelming tasks into manageable sprints. For ADHD, it creates urgency without panic. For Autism, it provides predictable intervals that reduce anxiety.
Accountability without shame
Accountability is powerful, but it must feel safe. Join a writing group, find an online community, or partner with a friend who understands your neurodivergent needs. Share progress updates, but avoid spaces that breed comparison or unrealistic pressure.
One writer with Autism told me they thrive in small, private accountability circles—just two or three people—because big groups feel chaotic. Another with ADHD uses public Twitter check-ins as a dopamine boost. Find what works for you, and ignore what doesn’t.
Plan for energy and emotional regulation
Writing isn’t just mental—it’s emotional. ADHD often brings fluctuating energy. Autism can involve sensory burnout. Respect your limits.
Schedule breaks before you hit exhaustion. Incorporate calming activities between sessions—deep breathing, stretching, or stimming if that helps regulate your nervous system. And celebrate small wins. Finished a paragraph? That’s progress. Wrote 200 words? That’s a victory. Dopamine loves rewards—give it some.
Embrace imperfection like it’s your superpower
Here’s a secret: your first draft doesn’t need to be good. It just needs to exist. Perfectionism is the enemy of progress, and for many neurodivergent writers, it’s a heavy weight. Give yourself permission to write messy. Revision is where the magic happens.
If your original plan stops working, adapt. Flexibility isn’t failure—it’s resilience. One writer with ADHD told me they abandoned their rigid outline halfway through and switched to scene cards. That pivot saved their book. Your process can evolve. Let it.
A day in the life: what this looks like in practice
Imagine this: It’s Tuesday morning. You’ve set a timer for 20 minutes. Your phone is in another room. You open your document and tell yourself, “Just write one scene.” You put on your favorite playlist—instrumental, so lyrics don’t hijack your focus. You write 300 words. When the timer buzzes, you take a five-minute break, sip tea, and scroll through a writing Substack for encouragement. Then you do another sprint.
By the end of the hour, you’ve written 900 words. That’s not just progress—it’s momentum. And momentum is what finishes novels.
Final thoughts: your story matters
Completing a novel is a marathon, not a sprint. For neurodivergent writers, the path may require extra planning and self-compassion, but your perspective is a gift to the literary world. Commit to progress, not perfection. Every word you write brings you closer to your goal—and that’s worth celebrating.
So, here’s your challenge: open Word Weaver Pro today (or some other app, if you insist). Write one sentence. Then another. Let this year be the one where your story finally takes shape.
