I recently worked on two similar projects – both journal books about the same size, both self-published (laid out and produced by me), both going up on Kindle/Amazon.

And I was equally excited about working on both.

One is a guided journal for the season of Lent. The other is a morning-and-evening guided journal about gratitude.

Logic says both should have taken about the same amount of time.

They didn’t. I have a few ideas why.

Firm Deadline. The Lent journal had an unmovable deadline of the week before Ash Wednesday. The prayer journal had no deadline. For me, a hard deadline is necessary. If the project has no deadline, I’m more likely to meander my way to completion. In cases where there isn’t an external or calendar-related deadline, I might need to set an agreement with a colleague to finish by a certain time.

Clear Focus. The Lent journal, obviously, is focused on disciplines, study, and introspection. The morning/evening journal went through several iterations because I had to find the precise way to invite the reader into the pages. Taking time to get the words right isn’t a bad thing. It’s just that the Lent journal already had a pre-defined focus, whereas the other journal had more of a blank-page beginning to the project.

Certainty About Audience. In both cases, the audience consists of those who like devotional books, introspective journaling, and writing prompts that lead to contemplation. The difference is that the Lent journal is aimed toward those who are familiar with the church seasons, and the other journal can be useful for a wider audience, including those who have no experience with churches or any religions. The second took longer in part because I wanted to be sure the book was engaging and valuable for the wider audience, which meant getting feedback from several people. Again, not a bad thing, just a different set of factors that determined completion time.

Have you noticed similar comparisons in your own work? Did discovering the differences help with future project planning? Tell me about it in the comments.

If there’s one thing that’ll stop my productivity right in its tracks, it’s second-guessing myself and my current path.

Is this what I should be working on right now? What about all those other things that are important? Am I actually doing what I was called to do? And the most distracting question of all: How do I know? (Along with its sequels: But how do I know that I know? And how do I know that I know that I know? – etc. until the cows come home.)

Those questions used to torture me until I discovered a reassuring way to know with some certainty:

Check the oil.

That probably sounds a bit strange, so I’ll unpack it for you.

When we’re inside God’s will, we’re anointed for the task. In Old Testament times, when people were anointed, the priest would pour oil on their heads, which signified God’s blessing.

Basically, they were oiled up.

So when we’re inside God’s will, we too are oiled up. Anointed.

Now, think of a car and what it means for the car to be oiled up. That means it runs smoothly, the pistons gliding inside the cylinders with ease, moving the vehicle down the road.

When the car has no oil – that is, when it’s not oiled up (“not anointed” for its task) – it’s basically metal against metal. Friction. Overheating. Sometimes complete engine failure.

In terms of knowing whether we’re doing what we’re made to do, here’s the clue: When we’re anointed for the task, even the struggles are easy to handle. When we’re not, even the easy things are a struggle.

The next time the questions swoop in, screeching and shrieking and dropping doubts all around your work, don’t let them bury you under their weight.

Just check the oil.

Advice on getting your work done is rampant.

I’m not kidding. Do a search for articles and books on how to complete your novel or screenplay or blog posts and … well, you might not come back up out of that rabbit hole. Maybe don’t do the search; just trust me on this.

I don’t have exact figures, but I’m pretty sure there are more write-ups on how to complete projects, how to stick to schedules, and how to get more paying gigs than there are actual things being worked on right now.

Ok, so there’s a lot of advice out there. That’s not a bad thing. Advice can be helpful.

What isn’t so helpful is that much of this counsel tends to skip the key ingredient that will ensure success:

You must get your butt in the chair and do the work.

All the reading about effective systems and chats with friends (even the well-intentioned ones who boost your spirits) and meditating on how to prioritize your 27 urgent projects — none of that will get the work done until you sit your butt down, position your hands on the keyboard, and start.

Or, in the words of the inspirational poster on the wall in my office:

Ass + Chair = Script

Truer words never spoken, my friend.

Not sure exactly what to write? Those words won’t write themselves. Get your butt in the chair and type until the words come.

Afraid it’s going to sound stupid? Maybe it will. So what? It can be fixed. (This is why God invented editors.) Get your butt in the chair.

Worried your plot might not be good enough? Guess what? If you don’t start, the whole thing will never see the light of day and, ergo, it won’t be good enough. Get your butt in the chair.

Stop the hemming and hawing, the planning and pondering, the dillying and dallying.

Stop talking about it. Stop wondering about it. Stop worrying about it.

Stop reading helpful advice – including this blog post. I mean it.

Butt in chair. Get to work. Right now.