When Everything Feels Urgent: Triage for the Overwhelmed Writer

What my brain feels like sometimes…

You know that feeling when you open your laptop and everything is screaming for your attention at once?

The romance manuscript needs revisions. Your cozy mystery series needs the next book outlined. That non-fiction mini book you promised yourself you’d write is collecting digital dust. Your newsletter subscribers are waiting. The client's work pays the bills. And somewhere in the chaos, there’s a family that would like to see you occasionally.

Welcome to the multi-genre, multi-project, multi-passionate writer’s life. Where “what should I work on today?” becomes an existential crisis before your morning coffee is even cold.

I see you, friend. I’m writing this from the middle of juggling three active book projects, a content calendar that never sleeps, and the constant nagging voice that says I should be doing all of it right now.

So let’s talk about triage. Not the Pinterest-perfect, color-coded, “I’ve got it all together” kind. The real, messy, “I need to make a decision in the next five minutes or I’ll spend the whole day paralyzed” kind.

The Emergency Room Approach to Your Writing Life

Here’s what I’ve learned from my own scattered creative brain: traditional productivity advice doesn’t work for us. We can’t just “eat the frog” or “do the most important thing first” when our brain genuinely believes that all six things are equally important and urgent.

Instead, I borrow from emergency room triage. When everything feels like it’s bleeding out, you need a system that helps you decide what actually needs immediate attention versus what can safely wait.

The Four-Question Framework

When I’m standing at my desk, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of everything demanding my attention, I run through these four questions for each screaming priority:

1. What happens if I don’t do this TODAY?

Not this week. Not “soon.” Literally today. Does someone miss a deadline? Does a contract get voided? Does income stop flowing? Does a relationship suffer real damage?

If the answer is “nothing really changes,” it’s not actually urgent. Our ADHD brains lie to us about urgency. They make everything feel like a five-alarm fire. This question separates real deadlines from anxiety-generated ones.

2. Is this a load-bearing beam or decorative trim?

Some projects are foundational to your author business. Others are nice-to-haves that we’ve elevated to “essential” in our minds.

Your next book in a series that readers are waiting for? Load-bearing beam. That anthology you thought about submitting to but haven’t committed to yet? Decorative trim. The client's work that pays your mortgage? Load-bearing beam. The passion project that’s purely for your own creative satisfaction? Decorative trim, at least for now.

This doesn’t mean the decorative trim doesn’t matter. It means it can wait without the whole structure collapsing.

3. Which project am I actually equipped to work on right now?

This is where we stop fighting our neurodivergent brains and start working with them. Do you have the energy level this task requires? The focused time block it needs? The mental bandwidth for this type of work? The research, materials, or information already gathered?

Sometimes my cozy mystery outline is genuinely the most important thing on my list, but if I’m in a brain-scattered, low-focus state, I literally cannot do it justice. Forcing it will result in two hours of staring at a blank screen and hating myself.

But responding to emails or comments on my posts? Writing a Substack Note? Formatting that already-written chapter? Those I can do in my current state. Productivity isn’t just about what’s important. It’s about matching the right task to your current capacity.

4. What will give me momentum for tomorrow?

Here’s a secret about ADHD brains: we run on wins. Small victories create dopamine, and dopamine creates more action.

If I’m completely paralyzed, I don’t start with the hardest, most important thing. I start with the thing I can complete in the next 30-60 minutes. Something I can check off and feel that little hit of “I did something today.”

Maybe it’s formatting a chapter. Maybe it’s outlining one scene. Maybe it’s finally updating that book description that’s been bothering me for weeks. Small, completable, concrete. Because that win? That creates momentum. And momentum is what we need to tackle the bigger, scarier projects waiting in the wings.

The Myth of Perfect Productivity (And Why It’s Killing Your Creativity)

Can we just acknowledge something? The fantasy of the perfectly productive writing day—where you wake up refreshed, tackle your most important project with laser focus, and finish the day having accomplished everything on your ideal list—that’s neurotypical propaganda.

It doesn’t exist. Not for us.

Our creativity doesn’t work in straight lines. Our productivity doesn’t look like the Instagram productivity influencers. And trying to force ourselves into that mold doesn’t make us more productive—it makes us miserable.

I spent years feeling like a failure because I couldn’t maintain the “write for four focused hours every morning” routine. Turns out, my brain needs variety. Some days I can give deep focus to fiction. Other days, my brain wants to bounce between three different projects, and fighting that just results in zero progress on anything.

Perfect productivity is a myth. Sustainable productivity is personal.

What works for you might be rotating through projects in 25-minute sprints, or dedicating different days to different types of work. Maybe you follow your energy and hyperfocus when it shows up, or you build in “chaos days” where you tackle the random small tasks that pile up. Perhaps you work best in the margins—15 minutes here, 30 minutes there—stolen moments between the rest of life’s demands.

None of these are wrong. They’re just different from the “ideal” we’ve been sold.

Self-Compassion in Overwhelmed Seasons

Here’s the part that’s hardest for me to practice but most essential to remember: some seasons are just hard.

If you’re in a season where everything genuinely IS urgent—you have deadlines stacking up, life circumstances are chaotic, health issues are demanding attention, family needs are pressing—you’re not failing at productivity. You’re surviving an overwhelming season.

In those times, give yourself permission to do less. Not forever. Just for right now. What’s the bare minimum that keeps the most important plates spinning? Do that, and let the rest wait.

Lower your standards temporarily. The newsletter doesn’t have to be your best work ever. The chapter doesn’t have to be perfect in the first draft. The social media post doesn’t need to be profound. Done is better than perfect when you’re drowning.

Ask for help. Can you push a deadline? Hire someone for a few hours? Trade services with another writer? Let a family member take something off your plate? We act like we have to do everything ourselves, but that’s not true.

And remember: this season is temporary. The overwhelm won’t last forever. The deadlines will eventually be met or pass by. The chaos will settle. You’ll have breathing room again. You just have to get through today.

The Practice of Choosing

Every morning (or let’s be real, every afternoon when I finally sit down to work), I practice choosing.

Not planning. Not organizing. Not creating the perfect schedule. Just choosing.

I look at my list. I run through the four questions. And I choose the one thing I’m going to work on right now. Not the three things. Not “a little bit of everything.” One thing.

And then I work on that one thing until it’s done, or until I hit a natural stopping point, or until my brain says, “I’m done with this now.”

Then I choose again.

Sometimes I choose the same project all day. Sometimes I bounce between four different things. But each time, it’s an intentional choice based on the framework, not an anxiety-driven reaction to everything screaming for attention.

That’s all productivity really is for multi-passionate writers: a series of intentional choices, made with self-awareness and compassion, repeated over and over until the work gets done.

Not perfect. Not Pinterest-worthy. Not even particularly impressive.

Just... choosing. Working. Choosing again.

That’s enough.

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