How Songwriting Differs From Other Types of Writing
Songwriting isn’t just about rhyming words. It’s a unique craft that blends music, emotion, and language to create connection in just minutes.
Songwriting isn’t just about rhyming words. It’s a unique craft that blends music, emotion, and language to create connection in just minutes.
If traditional writing advice has ever made you feel like your brain missed the memo, you’re not alone. So much craft guidance assumes neat routines, tidy outlines and predictable focus — and many writers quietly struggle to fit that mould. The truth? Plenty of brilliant fiction is written by minds that don’t work in straight lines. Let’s talk about how to write well when your brain prefers a different operating system.
Some writers plan in straight lines with outlines, while others think in images and fragments — and that’s not disorganisation. This article shows how visual, non-linear thinkers can plan their writing in a way that works with their brain instead of against it.
As writers, we don’t talk much about interruption from our bodies — at least, not in writing spaces. We talk about discipline. Momentum. Showing up. Pushing through. But with National Epilepsy Day 2026 (10 February 2026) fast approaching, it feels important to pause and name the moments when the body steps in and changes the plan — and what that means for creativity.
When you only offer yourself one type of writing — say, short stories — you might feel safe. But eventually, the flavour dulls. The texture becomes stale. Writers often fall into the trap of “I must chase that one big idea” and ignore everything else. Much like eating only a block of cheddar all night.
For writers who already feel “different” — dyslexic writers, ADHD writers, multilingual writers, anyone who’s been told their writing is sloppy or incorrect — dictation can feel exposing. But here’s the thing I wish someone had told me earlier: Dictation isn’t about speed. It’s about separation.
Real writer coaching isn’t about swooping in with a red pen; it’s an evidence-backed developmental practice used across creative industries worldwide. And in a country where our literary sector is both vibrant and deeply decentralised, coaching isn’t just helpful — it’s a strategic advantage. Here’s what actually works.
When we write online (blogs, captions, newsletters, bios, author pages), we’re not only communicating. We’re curating. And sometimes, we’re curating a character that’s supposedly us. For writers who aren’t online much, this matters too: Your relationship with “being seen” influences how freely you write behind closed doors. Authenticity online bleeds into authenticity on the page.
Let’s be honest — social media has trained us to measure our words by how they perform. Likes, shares, comments. Numbers. It’s not wrong to want readers. But when we start to believe that only visible writing is valuable, we shrink our creative joy. Many people stop writing altogether because they think their words don’t count unless someone’s watching. That’s simply not true.
YA stories live on emotion and honesty. When you understand your own feelings, your characters’ emotions ring true. A panic attack you write about today might turn into a storm scene tomorrow. A friendship fight could become your novel’s heart. Journalling gives you emotional truth — the kind readers recognise as real.
Not all feedback is created equal. Some feedback will be super helpful and will genuinely make your work shine, but other times, people might not understand your vision. That’s okay. If someone gives you feedback that doesn’t align with your goals or creative vision, feel free to politely let it go. You know your project best.
If your idea of a “writing session” is lying face down on the carpet whispering ideas to your cat, you’re not alone. Fatigue (the chronic kind), burnout (the smouldering kind), or ADHD (the caffeinated chaos kind) don’t just affect energy—they sabotage the boring bits: focus, follow-through, and feeling like your work is ‘real’.