Slow and Steady Wins the Race: Why Slow Writing Is Better Writing

Writer at work at laptop at his table

We live in a world obsessed with speed. Fast food, fast cars, fast internet, and yes—fast writing. The pressure to produce content quickly, to hit publish buttons with lightning speed, to churn out words like a factory assembly line has infected every corner of the writing world. From the "write a novel in 30 days" challenges to the endless stream of daily blog post requirements, we've somehow convinced ourselves that faster equals better.

But what if we've got it backwards? What if the secret to better writing isn't found in racing against the clock, but in deliberately slowing down?

Living with cerebral palsy has taught me something that the speed-obsessed writing world often misses: sometimes your limitations become your greatest strengths. What I initially saw as a disadvantage—the physical reality that I can't type as quickly as others, that I need to be more deliberate with every movement—has become one of my most valuable tools as a writer. It forced me into slow writing before I even knew that's what it was called.

Work from home setup

The Tyranny of the Productivity Culture

Walk into any bookstore and you'll find shelves lined with books promising to help you write faster, be more productive, and optimize your output. The message is clear: if you're not producing massive quantities of words daily, you're failing as a writer. Social media amplifies this pressure, with writers posting their daily word counts like badge collections, creating an invisible competition where speed becomes the primary measure of success. I will admit that I’ve gotten into those competitions with fellow writers. It’s fun in the right context. But beyond friendly competition, I don’t see the appeal of word counts. As with all things in life, quality beats quantity more often than not.

 Here's what the productivity gurus don't tell you: most of those rapidly produced words end up in the digital equivalent of a trash can. The first draft written in a caffeine-fueled sprint rarely resembles the polished piece that eventually sees publication. The blog post hammered out in twenty minutes to meet a daily posting schedule often lacks the depth and insight that comes from genuine reflection.

I've watched fellow writers burn themselves out trying to maintain unsustainable writing schedules, treating creativity like it's a renewable resource that can be mined indefinitely. The result isn't just bad writing—it's writers who lose their love for the craft altogether.

Pausing at laptop

 What Slow Writing Actually Means

Slow writing isn't about being lazy or unproductive. It's about being intentional. It's the difference between mindless typing and mindful composition. Instead of racing to fill pages, slow writing focuses on making each word count, each sentence matter, each paragraph serve a purpose.

For me, slow writing began out of necessity. When every keystroke requires more effort—even if you don’t notice said extra effort—when your hands don't always cooperate with your intentions, you learn to think before you type. You plan sentences in your head before committing them to the page. You choose words more carefully because going back to fix mistakes takes longer than getting them right the first time.

But what started as adaptation became revelation. I discovered that this deliberate pace didn't make my writing worse—it made it better. Much better.

Deep in thought

The Neurological Benefits of Slowing Down

Recent neuroscience research supports what slow writers have known intuitively for years: our brains work better when we give them time to process information deeply. The default mode network—the brain regions active during rest and introspection—plays a crucial role in creativity and problem-solving. But this network needs quiet, unrushed time to function effectively.

When we write at breakneck speed, we're essentially asking our brains to perform two complex tasks simultaneously: generating creative content and executing rapid motor functions. For most people, this creates a cognitive bottleneck. The creative centers get shortchanged because so much mental energy goes toward the mechanics of fast production. I liken it to taking notes during a discussion in school. It didn’t matter what kind of learner you were. In most of the classes I had, you were expected to take notes at all times. I found that at the end of the day, I had pages upon pages of notes but no retention or recollection of what went on because I was spending all my energy writing things down, and trying to do so as quickly as possible. The same thing applies to writing. If you’re trying to write fast, you’re likely not understanding how your words will sound in a reader’s mind, which makes for more editing later. Quality writing requires your creative and mechanical processes to work together. 

Slow writing allows these processes to work in harmony rather than competition. Your creative mind can fully engage with ideas while your motor functions handle the physical act of writing without rushing. The result is often writing that feels more natural, more thoughtful, and more authentically you.

Writer revising

The Gift of Revision Built In

One of the most significant advantages of slow writing is that revision becomes part of the initial composition process rather than a separate, often dreaded task. When you're writing slowly and deliberately, you naturally catch awkward phrasing, unclear logic, and weak word choices as they happen.

This isn't the same as perfectionist paralysis—that destructive habit of editing every sentence to death before moving forward. Instead, it's organic refinement, where your natural pace allows your editorial instincts to work alongside your creative ones.

I notice this most clearly when comparing pieces I've written at different speeds. The blog posts I've rushed through in order to meet self-imposed deadlines often require extensive revision, sometimes to the point of complete rewrites. But the pieces I've allowed to develop slowly, letting ideas percolate and sentences form naturally, need far less structural work later.

Man thinking

Deep Thinking Versus Surface Skimming

Fast writing encourages surface-level thinking. When you're racing to hit word count goals or meet tight deadlines, there's no time for the kind of deep reflection that produces original insights. You end up recycling familiar ideas, relying on the same phrases and structures, producing content that feels generic even when the topic is personal.

Slow writing creates space for deeper exploration. It allows you to sit with uncomfortable questions, to examine ideas from multiple angles, to make connections you might have missed in a rush to produce. Some of my most meaningful writing has emerged from those moments of unhurried contemplation—insights that only surfaced because I gave my mind permission to wander and wonder.

This is important when writing about personal experiences or complex topics. The rushed treatment of serious subjects often feels superficial or exploitative. But when you allow yourself time to truly process and understand your own experiences, the resulting writing carries an authenticity and depth that readers can immediately sense.

Writer scribbling notes

The Physical Reality of Sustainable Writing

From a purely physical standpoint, slow writing is more sustainable. Repetitive strain injuries plague writers who spend hours typing rapidly. Eye strain, neck tension, and hand fatigue are common complaints in our profession. For someone with a physical disability like cerebral palsy, these issues can be even more pronounced.

But even beyond disability considerations, fast writing takes a physical toll on everyone. The human body isn't designed for the sustained, rapid, repetitive motions that speed writing demands. Slow writing allows for natural breaks, stretches, and the relaxed posture that prevents long-term physical problems.

There's also something to be said for the rhythm of slow writing. Like a steady walking pace that allows you to notice your surroundings, a measured writing pace lets you stay connected to your thoughts and feelings as they develop. You're less likely to outrun your own understanding or leave important ideas behind in the rush to produce.

Tea and typewriter: Distraction-free production

Quality Versus Quantity: Redefining Productivity

The writing world's obsession with word counts and daily production quotas has created a distorted view of what productivity actually means. We measure success by how many words we've written rather than how effective those words are at accomplishing their purpose.

But what if productivity isn't about producing more—what if it's about producing better? A single well-crafted paragraph that perfectly captures an idea is infinitely more valuable than three pages of rushed, unclear prose. A blog post that truly connects with readers and changes how they think about a topic is worth dozens of quickly produced pieces that get forgotten as soon as they're read.

Slow writing encourages this qualitative approach to productivity. Instead of asking "How many words did I write today?" you ask "Did I say what I really wanted to say? Did I say it well? Will this piece matter to the people who read it?"

Patience leads ot productivity

The Art of Patience in an Impatient World

Perhaps the most challenging aspect of embracing slow writing is developing patience in a world that rewards speed. It means accepting that your daily word count might be lower than other writers'. It means sitting with ideas longer before declaring them finished. It means resisting the urge to publish immediately and instead allowing pieces to mature.

This patience has been one of the most valuable skills I've developed as a writer. Not just patience with the writing process, but patience with myself. Living with cerebral palsy taught me that some things simply take longer, and that's not necessarily a disadvantage. Some of the most worthwhile endeavors—raising children, building relationships, mastering crafts—require time and patience. Why should writing be any different?

The writers I most admire aren't necessarily the most prolific. They're the ones whose work feels carefully considered, whose ideas have been allowed to fully develop, whose words carry weight because they've been chosen deliberately rather than hurriedly.

Writing by hand

 Practical Strategies for Slower Writing

Adopting a slow writing approach doesn't mean becoming less productive—it means becoming more intentional about how you spend your writing time. Here are some strategies that have worked for me:

Start with thinking, not typing: Before opening your laptop or picking up your pen, spend time just thinking about what you want to say. Let ideas develop in your mind before trying to capture them in words. I admit this one is a double-edged sword for me. I know I need to think about my words to some extent, but when I do, I risk overthinking. The trick is to find a middle ground that works to keep you focused while still allowing your creativity to shine through.

Write in shorter, focused sessions: Instead of marathon writing sessions, try working in concentrated bursts of 45-60 minutes. This prevents fatigue and maintains the mental clarity that slow writing requires. I like to set a timer either on my computer or on my phone for an hour at a time, rewarding focused writing with brief breaks. 

Embrace the pause: When you're stuck on a word or phrase, don't immediately reach for a thesaurus or forge ahead with something that doesn't feel right. Sit with the uncertainty for a moment. Often, the right word will come if you give it time. I do this often. Conventional wisdom while drafting tells you to write first and ask questions later. There’s a time for that, but not all the time.

Read your work aloud as you go: This natural pacing mechanism helps you hear the rhythm of your sentences and catch problems before they accumulate. Word and Google Docs have features that allow you to do this, absolute game changer for me.

Allow for incubation time: Some ideas need to sit and develop before they're ready to be written. Keep a notebook or digital file where you can capture thoughts that aren't quite ready for full development. I do this with my Kindle Scribe or in various notebooks with my left-handed Lamy Safari fountain pen, depending on what kind of mood I’m in that day. Some writers discourage keeping notes while others swear by it. The key, as I often say, is to find whatever works for you. Experiment with different methods and find what resonates with you. 

Slowing down writing by the water

The Slow Writing Community

One of the unexpected benefits of embracing slow writing is discovering that you're not alone. There's a growing community of writers who prioritize depth over speed, quality over quantity. These writers understand that good writing—writing that lasts, that matters, that changes people—takes time.

This community exists both online and offline. You'll find them in the writers who post less frequently but with more substance. In the bloggers who publish one thoughtful piece per week rather than daily content. In the authors who take years to complete books because they refuse to rush the process.

Finding this community has been crucial for me. It's easy to feel inadequate when surrounded by productivity-focused writers obsessing over daily word counts. But when you connect with others who value the deliberate craft of writing, you realize that slow doesn't mean less-than. It means different—and often better.

Writer at work

When Fast Writing Has Its Place

Not that fast writing never has value. Sometimes speed is necessary—breaking news situations, time-sensitive deadlines, or stream-of-consciousness exercises that deliberately bypass your internal editor. The key is recognizing these situations as exceptions rather than the standard.

Even when circumstances require faster writing, the habits developed through slow writing practice—thoughtful word choice, sentence structure awareness, clarity of purpose—still serve you well. You can write faster when necessary without abandoning the principles of good writing.

The problem comes when fast writing becomes the default mode, when we stop distinguishing between situations that truly require speed and those that would benefit from a more deliberate approach.

Finding perspective

The Long-Term Perspective

Slow writing is ultimately about taking a long-term view of your development as a writer. Instead of optimizing for today's word count or this week's blog schedule, you're optimizing for the kind of writer you want to become over months and years.

This perspective has been essential for me as someone whose physical limitations make certain types of productivity impossible. Instead of fighting against those limitations or feeling inadequate because of them, I've learned to see them as guardrails that keep me focused on what really matters: the quality of ideas, the clarity of expression, the authenticity of voice.

Every piece I write slowly and deliberately teaches me something about the craft that rushed writing never could. I learn how words interact with each other, how rhythm affects meaning, how patience in the writing process translates to power in the final product.

Success at work

Redefining Writing Success

Perhaps the most important shift that comes with embracing slow writing is a redefinition of what success looks like. Success isn't measured in words per hour or posts per week. It's measured in connection—with your own thoughts, with your readers, with the craft itself.

It's the satisfaction of finding exactly the right word after patient searching. It's the moment when a complex idea finally becomes clear through careful explanation. It's the feedback from readers who say your writing helped them understand something they'd been struggling with, or made them feel less alone, or changed their perspective on an important topic.

These moments of connection and clarity make writing worthwhile. They're what separate mere content production from genuine communication. And they happen more frequently when we give ourselves permission to slow down, to think deeply, and to care more about saying something well than saying something fast.

The Courage to Go Slow

Slowing down writing on the beach

In a world that rewards speed and volume, choosing to write slowly requires courage. It means accepting that your output might look different from others'. It means resisting the pressure to constantly produce content. It means trusting that quality will ultimately matter more than quantity.

For writers with disabilities or chronic conditions, this courage is especially important. The writing world often assumes that everyone operates from the same baseline of physical and cognitive ability. But our limitations can become our strengths if we're willing to work with them rather than against them.

My cerebral palsy forced me to discover slow writing, but I see it as a gift rather than a burden. It taught me patience, deliberation, and the value of choosing each word carefully. I’m pretty fast on the keyboard considering, but to say I’m not at least moderately slower compared to others would be a lie. I’ve learned to use that to my advantage though. It has made me a better writer than I ever could have been if I'd been able to type at lightning speed without thinking.

Writing slowly in a fast world is an act of rebellion—a quiet insistence that depth matters more than speed, that thoughtfulness trumps productivity, that the goal isn't to produce more words but to produce words that matter. In our hurried, content-saturated world, maybe that kind of rebellion is exactly what we need.

What's your relationship with writing speed? Have you found benefits in slowing down your writing process, or do you struggle with the pressure to produce quickly? I'd love to hear about your experiences with finding the right pace for your creative work. Share your thoughts in the comments or reach out through my contact page—these conversations about the craft always teach me something new.