Let’s be real—when people think of a “writer,” they either picture the manic coffee addict with Post-its on the mirror, or the zen minimalist with a color-coded Notion board and perfect lighting. I’m neither. I’m somewhere in the middle.

My process isn’t neat, but it works. And if you’re the type of writer who’s more vibe-driven than task-oriented, let me show you how I organize my work without losing my mind—or my voice.

1. 

I Write First. Organize Later.

I don’t start with outlines. I start with impulses. Lines, scenes, snippets of dialogue, fragments of feeling. I throw it all down into a doc, a note, a voice memo, or even a text to myself. I’m not waiting for the muse to knock—if I get a sentence that hits, it gets captured now, no matter the form.

My notes app looks like a chaotic lovechild of a diary and a screenplay.

Tip: Don’t wait to be organized to start writing. Collect your chaos first. You can always sculpt it later. But you can’t edit a blank page.

2. 

Project-Based Folders That Are a Little… Improvised

Okay, so I do have folders. Kinda. Each project—be it a novel, poetry collection, or blog idea—gets its own folder. But don’t expect to find perfect chronology inside. I label things with what makes sense to me in the moment:

• “Scenes to Bleed For”
• “She Finally Snaps”
• “Ending? Maybe?”
• “Not for the Book But Too Good to Delete”

This method helps me emotionally track my work instead of just filing it coldly by chapter. It keeps me in tune with the soul of the story.

Tip: You don’t have to organize like a librarian. Organize like a storyteller. Use emotional cues and working titles that spark memory and tone.

3. 

The Master Doc: The Beast I Feed

Once I’ve got enough raw material, I start feeding it into a single document I call the Master Doc. It’s the place where the actual manuscript takes shape. Everything else is a scrap pile, but the Master Doc? That’s sacred.

I copy/paste, rearrange, write new transitions, rewrite entire scenes, or just leave [insert something actually powerful here] in brackets.

It gets long, messy, and filled with triple asterisks and all caps rage notes like:

THIS IS SO BAD, FIX THIS OR DELETE IT ENTIRELY.

But it keeps the heart beating.

Tip: Every writer needs a centralized space for the real draft. It can be ugly, but it’s your North Star.

4. 

Track Progress, But Loosely

I loosely track progress. Not with a planner, not with a spreadsheet, but with a few running notes:

• A “Done” list (because checking things off is a drug)
• A “Still Missing” list
• A “This Might Work Later” archive

I don’t care if it’s on Google Docs, in a notebook, or written in the steam on my bathroom mirror. I just need a way to see movement, even if it’s slow. Momentum matters more than perfection.

Tip: Replace perfectionism with momentum. Keep proof that you’re making progress—even if it’s a single polished paragraph or an entire deleted chapter.

5. 

Backups and Chaos Insurance

I save everything. Twice. Sometimes three times. I’ve lost too many pages to random tech issues or idiotic moments of accidental deletion. Now, I have folders labeled “DO NOT DELETE,” “Nicholas BACKUP,” and “In Case I Go Missing.”

Yeah, it’s overkill. But when you’re pouring your heart into something for months—or years—you can’t afford to lose it.

Tip: Messy is fine. But don’t be reckless. Your story deserves insurance. Back. It. Up.

6. 

Weekly Chaos Clean-Ups

Every Sunday, I do what I call a Creative Clean-Up. I spend maybe 30 minutes scanning through my week’s notes, scraps, and stray ideas. If anything still has heat, it goes into the project folder. If not, it gets archived but never trashed.

Sometimes the gold is in that forgotten sentence from Tuesday at 3:47 PM.

Tip: Schedule a weekly date with your mess. Not to force yourself to be neat, but to remind yourself what still matters.

7. 

Permission to Be Unapologetically Messy

The truth is, “organization” isn’t about aesthetic. It’s about accessibility. Can I find what I need when I need it? Can I move forward today without spiraling into chaos? Then I’m organized enough.

My creative brain is not built for Excel spreadsheets or perfect binders. But it is built to create real, emotional work. And I’ve built an ecosystem that supports that—not some idealized version of how a writer should operate.

Tip: Own your mess. Just make sure it’s a mess that works for you.

Final Thought: Organized Enough to Be Dangerous

Your writing process doesn’t need to be pretty. It needs to be yours.

So if you’re the kind of writer who uses napkins and dreams and ten different Google Docs to get the words out—you’re not doing it wrong. You’re doing it your way. Keep organizing your chaos just enough to stay dangerous.

Then, go write the thing.