This article first appeared in The Regency Reader, and I’ve updated it recently.CLICK HERE to Download a PDF of the Updated Article, including Precedence Tables.House of Lords, 1809 from Ackermann’s Microcosm of LondonAn Etymology of Titles
We tend to think of dukes and viscounts as having always been in the British nobility. In fact, these titles came into creation at specific dates, often as the result of royals looking to reward a favorite. English nobility grew as a result of the crown granting a “Patent” which stipulated the degree of the title and how it could devolve upon the title-holder’s descendant.
Knowing when a title was created can help understand its precedent. Two factors go into creating precedent: the rank of title, and the age of the title. The older a title, the more clout it carries. Therefore, a fourteenth marquess takes precedent over a fifth marquess, but not over any duke. For simplicity, let’s start at the crown and work our way through the English peerage by rank.
King (pre-conquest): In Old English the word was cyng or cing. The Saxon tribes who invaded Briton used this word for their leaders. In Saxon days, this did not denote a hereditary title, merely someone of high status and noble birth who could be elected to power. After 1066, when William of Normandy brought over his feudal notions of inherited power, King became an inherited title for the ruling monarch.
Queen (pre-conquest): The Old English equivalent to cyng is cwen. Again, we have a matching ancient Saxon title for a female ruler, or the consort of a king. England differs from much of the continent in that women can inherit the throne. This began in 1135, when Stephen inherited the throne through his mother, Adela, the daughter of William of Normandy.
Prince/Princess (1200’s): The Normans brought the Latin and French; from them, in the early 1200’s, comes this title. Until James I (1603-1625), only the king’s eldest son could call himself a prince. After James, all sons and daughters of the King or Queen became a prince/princess. Victoria (1837-1901) went on to extended the titles prince/princess to all children of the sons of the ruling monarch (all grandchildren of the monarch through the male line). The Windsors are now moving away from this tradition, opting for lesser titles for the queen’s grandchildren.
Prince of Wales (1338): Edward I conquered Wales in 1283, and his son Edward II, was born in Wales at Caernavon a year later, the first English ‘Prince of Wales.’ In 1338, Edward III made his son Duke of Cornwall, and would later confirm him Prince of Wales—a title that continues to this day.
Duke/Duchess (1338): This is an ancient title in European countries, coming from the Latin, dux, for leader. William of Normandy, the Conqueror, is often called William, Duke of Normandy. But, an Old English chronicle of 1066, gives him an older Saxon title, Wyllelm, earl of Normandize. In England, ‘Duke’ remained a foreign title until 1338 when Edward raised his son from Earl of Cornwall to Duke of Cornwall. Despite traditions of romantic fictions, duke remains a rare title.
Royal Dukes are those sons born to the ruling monarch. George IV’s brothers included the Royal Dukes: York (Frederick), Clarence (William), Kent (Edward), Sussex (Augustus), Cambridge (Adolphus), Cumberland (Ernest). The Prince Regent’s sister Mary also married William, Duke of Gloucester, who had inherited the royal title from his father, the younger brother of George III.
Other than the Royal Dukedoms, there are 26 noble dukedoms, including: Argyll, Atholl, Beaufort, Bucclench, Buckingham, Devonshire, Grafton, Hamilton, Leinster, Manchester, Marlborough, Montrose, Newcastle, Norfolk, Northumberland, Portland, Portsmouth, Queensbury, Richmond, Roxburghe, Rutland, St. Alhans, Somerset, Wellington. At birth, a duke’s eldest son takes on one of his father’s secondary title as a courtesy title. And a grandson then takes one of the third, lesser titles as a courtesy.
Marquess/Marchioness (1385): In 1385, Richard II created Robert de Vere–the Earl of Oxford–the Marquess of Dublin, thereby bringing the title into existence as a degree between Duke and Earl. The term comes from the Old French, marchis, for warden of the marches. The title wasn’t adopted into the Scottish peerage until the 15th century. As with a duke, the eldest son of a marquess takes on one of his father’s secondary, lesser title (if one exists) as a courtesy. Other sons and daughters are called Lord and Lady. This is a courtesy title, and so the title is attached to their given and family name.
Earl/Countess (pre-conquest): The Old English for someone of property is eon. This is as opposed to ceonl, someone without property. Earldoms are perhaps the oldest English title, dating back several hundred years before the conquest. After William came along with his conquest, earl became equal to the Norman “count.” William tried to force the title “count” on the Saxons, but the word caught on only with the earl’s wife, who still bears the title countess. As with duke and marquess, an earl’s eldest son takes on one of his father’s lesser titles as a courtesy title. Daughters are style Lady—such as Lady Elizabeth Dabney—and retain that title if they marry beneath them. Younger sons are mere Honorables (but that title is never mentioned in any verbal address).
Viscount/Vicountess (1440): In Old French the word is viconte, or in Latin vice comes–the deputy of a count. In 1440, Henry VI first granted the title to make John, Baron Beaumont, into Viscount Beaumont. However, the word had already been in use for almost a hundred years for an assistant to an earl—specifically for high sheriffs. There are no courtesy titles for any rank below earl, therefore the children of Viscounts are only known as “Honorables” (a style used only in writing and never in speech). And eldest sons of Scottish Viscounts are sometimes called The Master of (place name).
Baron/Baroness (late 1300’s): The word comes from the Latin for baro, meaning a man. Specifically, this meant a man who was not a vassal or servant. From the time of Henry III (1216 – 1272), the King’s barons were summoned to the Great Council. These were men who “were summoned by a writ to Parliament” or men of important, and often military, standing. (It was the ‘Great Barons’ who forced King John to sign the Magna Carta in 1215– primarily to make sure they kept their own rights.) Richard II (1377- 1400) started to created Barons by patent.
Baronet/Lady (1611): From the Latin for lesser baron. Historically, the term was applied to gentlemen summoned by Edward III (1327 – 1377) to the House of Lords (barons by writ, not by tenure). It also has been used to indicate barons of small holdings. The original term was Knight Baronet. The title did not come into formal existence until 1611. At that time, James I needed cash to hang onto Ulster, which the Irish wanted back. So James created a hereditary title, baronet, and The Red Hand of Ulster became their badge. Baronets of Scotland were created from 1625 until 1707, and Irish baronets were created until 1801, when acts of union passed respectively. A baronet is really not a member of nobility. He styles himself ‘Sir’ (no my lords here), and he does not hold a seat in the House of Lord. His wife is known as Lady (instead of Mrs.).
Knight/Dame (1000’s): Knight comes to us from the Old English cnihht or in Old French cnihta. It’s original meaning is for a boy military servant or follower. After the conquest, the word shows up to denote a man, usually of gentle birth, who has earned the title by serving at court and training for the right to bear military arms (and therefore earn higher rank by fighting for the crown). By 1386, we have Chaucer’s “verray parfit gentil knyght.” And by the sixteenth century, the title began to be awarded for personal merit or services to the country. Knights are not members of nobility. And the title cannot be inherited. The title is given to an individual. A knight is known as “Sir” and his wife is usually “Lady” or “Dame.” A woman can be granted this honor and is then named “Dame” in her own right, but her husbands remains a mere mister.
Listed by precedence, the British Orders of Knighthood include:
— Knights of the Order of the Garter (1349)
— Knights of the Thistle (1678) – exclusive to Scottish nobles
— Knights of St. Patrick (1788) – exclusive to Irish nobles
— Knights of the Bath (1399, revived in 1715)- first order conferred on commoners
— Knights of the Star of India (1861
— Knights of St. Michael and St. George (1818)
— Knights of the Indian Empire (1877)
— Knights of the Royal Victorian Order (1896)
— Knights of the British Empire (1917-1918)
— Knights Bachelor – a knight who is not a member of any particular knighthood
Edward III founded the “Poor Knights of the Order of the Garter.” It was a set group of 26 veterans of military service. Since Charles I the number has been fixed at 13 for the Royal Foundation and 5 for the Lower (now abolished), and a Governor. These men are military officers who are given, along with their title, apartments in Windsor Castle and small pensions. They are therefore known as Knights of Windsor. From 1797 to 1892, these Knights of Windsor could included naval officers. William IV officially made their title, Military Knights of Windsor.
A FINAL NOTE: For those Americans confused by the inconsistent “of” that is sometimes included in a title, this preposition indicates a title that takes its name from a territory. The Duke of Kent is a title associated with Kent, the land. The preposition is omitted in titles that originated with the family name, such as for Baron Beaumont. All existing dukedoms are territorial titles. And the preposition “of” is never used for viscounts.
The caveat to everything said here is that there are exceptions to almost everything. These are frequent enough to confuse, but rare enough to slip past the notice of most. Remember the notion of a monarch’s whim when creating titles—almost anything goes, but tradition is tradition because it is the most common method of doing anything. And you need good reasons to break that tradition. Particularly some of the traditions of nobility date back to before the conquest.
Sources:
Oxford English Dictionary, Compact Edition, Oxford University Press, 1971
Titles and Forms of Address, Black Ltd., 1929 ed.
Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, Wordsworth Reference. 1970
It’s Banned Book week, and at least in the US we do mostly silly bans–we haven’t gotten to the point of throwing writers in Jail (yet). Amnesty International has a list of those who have had not just their words banned, but their lives. There’s also an excellent post on why this week matters over at Everybodyslibraries.com with a good summary:
“Banned Books Week is thus about twin freedoms: the freedom to write about what matters to you, and the freedom to read about what matters to you.”
But I like the quote from Philip Pullman best: “Destroying intellectual freedom is always evil, but only religion makes doing evil feel quite so good.”
A Wrinkle in Timeby Madeleine L’Engle Brave New World by Aldous Huxley Canterbury Tales by Chaucer East of Eden by John Steinbeck Fanny Hill(Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
And then some how this shows up on the list: Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff. Okay, what was someone thinking–smutty words? Diabolical definitions? I do love the idea that it’s not even the ideas, but the words themselves that somehow present a danger to young minds. (I am a dictionary junkie myself — I have four at home, including an OED.) And somehow it’s fitting that there is book on book banning, Banned in the U.S.A.
So I say live dangerously and buy and read a banned book this week.
October 2004 – OCCRWA Online Workshop – The Selling Synopsis
October 2004 Los Angles County Library Romance Workshop – Speaking with Jill Marie Landis, Susan Squires, Jackie Diamond, Linda O. Johnston, Linda McLaughlin.
September 2004 Authors Talk – Barnes & Noble, Valenca
Because praise is always nice, and self-promotion is vital….
Words on Shannon’s Workshops–
“I did revamp the entire thing according to this workshop and guess what? I got a request for a full (manuscript) off of my synopsis! Thanks so much for sharing your knowledge!” Kim Daniel — Selling Synopsis Workshop
“I’ve finaled in the Sharp Synopsis contest. Using the synopsis we created in your class, by the way. Thank you so much for teaching me so well!” Wendy-Marie Foerster — Selling Synopsis Workshop
‘Writing synopses is hard; I’ve done about six of the beasts by now and it never seems to get easier. Your approach is very, very helpful.” Nancy Herkness — Selling Synopsis Workshop
“I learned a great deal from your expertise as a writer and a special “thanks” for your patience as an instructor.” Diana Hizar —Selling Synopsis Workshop
“You definitely added more tools to my writing toolbox… Thank you!” Genene Valleau — Show and Tell Workshop
“You gave valuable info regarding the use of telling and showing and now better understand when to use them in my writing. Thank you for teaching this course.” Gerry Jove — Show and Tell: An Interactive Workshop
“Thank you for the huge amount of really useful information. I especially appreciate how you broke down what seemed to be an impossible task into doable parts.” Jocelyn McGrath — Research Workshop
This has been developed from various workshops, tip sheets and classes taken — please feel free to take this, add, delete and create your own checklist.
1. Does it cover the hero and heroine’s relevant character traits and goals in a fresh way?
2. Does it tell the scenes with the most conflicts–internal and external–for the hero and the heroine, with an emphasis on the main character’s conflict?
3. Does it offer specific dramatic scenes for the main turning points, detailing what happens, where it happens, escalating the risk to the main character’s goal, and offering harder and harder choices for the main character in each of these scenes?
4. Does it have scenes that show a developing relationship, including attraction and hero and heroine compatibility, with mention of the feelings of the characters, and also telling what is keeping a relationship from working between these two?
5. Does the story include scenes with sexual developments between the characters and how those scenes impact character conflicts, compatibities and emotions?
6. Does it tell all characters’ motivations–including for any villain or antagonist?
7. Are the characters fresh? Are they developed by looking past cliché to what is core and specific to the characters?
8. Do the characters make choices that come from within that specific person, rather than from the writer manipulating the story? Can you say, “Yes, if I were this person, I would make this choice.”
9. Does it raise questions to keep interest going–and then provide answers to all questions raised?
10. Does it include a scene that is the climax or black moment, and make clear the resolution of the story with an ending that wraps up all story elements?
11. Does it include a strong theme that is woven into the scenes and character choices–and which is revealed strongest in the climax of the book and the character’s ultimate choice?
12. Is the voice active, with all extra words cut, and with the best possible word choices with the clearest, most concise writing possible in a tone that matches the tone of the book?
Then, rising with Aurora’s light,
The Muse invoked, sit down to write;
Blot out, correct, insert, refine,
Enlarge, diminish, interline.
Swift, On Poetry
Most of us allow our characters more foreplay than we allow ourselves. I’m not talking sexual foreplay, but creative foreplay. Think about it. Do you plunk yourselves down to work! Do you sit, staring at a blank page or an empty computer screen, demanding your creative side to get busy and produce. Do you tackle your manuscript with a red pen and the attitude that you’re going to get through that entire sucker tonight and make it shine? Is this any way to really be creative?
I thought about this article for some months before I sat down to write it. I mulled over the title, made a few false starts, tried to force out a few paragraphs. Then, sitting in the hot tub up to my neck in bubbles and staring up at the stars after a very unproductive day, it all came together in that one key word–courting.
How many of us court our creative muses? Do we send our creative side flowers? Do we mutter soft flattery? Do we evoke an inviting environment with soft light and music? Do we honor any of the rituals of courtship–or even half of what we’d like on a first date?
For me, it’s more often a matter of, “Gee, muse, I’ve got an afternoon to get some work done, so get your tail in here and get down to it.”
Now, I’d toss any potential romantic hero out on his semi-colon if he showed up in my manuscript with that kind of charm. But I’m guilty of approaching my ‘work’ with that same knuckle-dragging grace. Too often, I’m under pressure to produce, or I’m trying to squeeze in that extra bit of writing into an already packed day, and so I demand roughly, “Strip baby!” as I try to get under the skins of my characters. Their usual response is to freeze up, and refuse to even participate in the story. Wit turns wooden and dialogue flows about as well as lumpy oatmeal pours.
To court…to woo…to try and gain the favor of. From court we get courtship, courtesy, and even courtesan. The word implies grace, irresistible charm, and facinating allure. But exactly how do you court your muse? How do you woo creativity so that you don’t waste precious writing time.
Well, for me, I’m better off wasting that time.
You see, I believe that for a writer, no time is ever wasted. Half of writing is figuring out what to write, when to start the story, who the characters are. Personally, ‘down time’ is as vital to me as breathing. Sometimes the bad writing, the stiff dialogue, the stuff I look at and go, “yuck!” that’s really just my muse screaming for some attention. She dries up like an old heifer and sulks at my poor treatment of her. So, I do as I would have done to me. I take her out for a date.
The nice thing is that she’s a cheap date (really cheap). I can lie in a park and stare at clouds. I can garden a little (meaning pull a few weeds and just poke around). Or I wander around a farmer’s market (with no intention of buying anything and every intention to sample the sights, smells and produce). Or I just sit somewhere. And drift.
In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron talks about this as taking an artist date. For me, it’s even less structured than that. It’s a matter of clearing away the rest of the world so I can get quiet enough to hear my muse. It’s a matter of soft lights, of sitting in a hot tub, of not having anything else to do. It’s not having the TV on, or a book open, or the radio playing, or a record sounding, or someone talking at me. It’s just wandering–sometimes physically and always mentally. Because that’s when my muse comes to me.
She comes on soft and darting feet, as elusive as a dandelion on a summer breeze. She speaks in whispers quieter than a moonless night. She stays long enough to laugh at mortal whims, and then she glimmers out of sight. And if I’m lucky–and have nothing else in my head–I see that what she leaves behind are golden rays of ideas. And these pour out of my fingers in such a rapid flow that my keyboard clatters late into the night.
That’s how this article happened. And all because I got up from my chain and keyboard and stopped trying to work. I started goofing off. I started wooing and stopped demanding.
It is called foreplay for a reason. Fore as in before, play as in have fun. Let’s face it, writing is not work. It’s hard. But it’s not work. Ditch digging is work. Writing is art. It’s black magic. It’s farce and tragedy, and bloody amazing that anyone can learn to speak to another soul so directly with print on a page and this clumsy, lovely, mysterious thing we call language.
So next time, before you sit down to write, waste a little of that precious time. Treat yourself, and your muse, to some creative foreplay. Don’t just slam, bam on the keyboard. Goof off a little. Let your characters roll around in your head without the encumbrance of shopping lists and chores. Ease yourself into it as if you were going out on a date with someone you greatly admire–and lust after. Apply a little courtship, but then, be warned–when the muse whispers to you, you must write.
Write at once. Not tomorrow, not later. Grab a pencil, switch on that computer. Get that hot flow of words onto paper before they dart away.
Fast writing is not a gimmick–there are some tips than can make any writer more productive.
More years ago than I like to mention these days, I started writing computer games. The deadlines cracked whips that could get a crew in a Roman galley up to speed for water skiing. Over the years, those deadlines have given me “writing muscles.” It’s like this–you don’t run the marathon without training for it, and you don’t do the 50-yard dash in under ten seconds without muscles that’d put a cheetah to shame. Well, a lack of training is all that’s keeping you from getting that 130,000 word book done in less than ten years or knocking out a story a week (the way Science Fiction great Ray Bradbury used to when he was building his writer’s muscles).
So, how do you get these muscles? Put away those weights. The exercises I’m about to give you happen only at your keyboard.
First–you are now an athlete in training. This means that you must PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR BODY. Frequent, small meals keep my mind sharp. I avoid fats and sugar, functioning best with starches, such as pasta, rice and very little protein. I go light on any alcoholic beverage and limit the caffeine, unless I’m facing a late-night, last-minute deadline. And I make sure that I get enough sleep. Facing a blank page or computer screen with a sleep-dulled mind is a great way to do Zen meditation, but not much else.
On your day off, you can dig into those chocolates and cookies and wine and live it up. But don’t be surprised if you find yourself not liking those ‘treats’ as much as you used to. Training quickly becomes habit–and you’re conditioning your body to like writing.
Next, establish a habit of “warms-up” that begin every writing session. Your main writing muscle is your brain, and you’ve got to give it a chance to settle into writing mode.
Warm up start on by writing something. So sit at your desk and write one page. Of anything!
Write a page from the book you’re currently reading. (This is a great way to limber up and subconsciously gain insight into ‘how does she do that’.)
Write a page of what’s going on in your head.
Write a page that describes any conversation you ever overheard.
Write a page that describes any person you ever met.
JUST WRITE ONE PAGE.
Each week, increase this goal until, first thing off, boom! You write five pages. This is a religious routine. Do it until it’s automatic. But these five pages do not count as your regular pages. These are your warm-ups.
Then, after you’re warmed up, look at your current project. Go over the last five pages you’ve written. You can only make minor edits–changing a word, correcting a sentence, fixing a misspelling, marking a place that needs more research. If anything in those five pages needs major work or makes you want to throw it out–don’t! Instead, write the word EDIT in big, bold letters and go on.
Now, to stretch your muscles. Your initial goal is not to do ten pages a day. Would you try to run ten miles without being ever running and doing well at a single mile? Your initial goal is to do ONE MORE PAGE each week than you consider productive and comfortable. Push past your comfort zone by easing past it. If you consider two pages a day good, set your goal to three pages a day. Keep pushing. Don’t say, “I’m a slow writer.” You become your labels–so start saying, “I’m a fast writer.” Don’t worry if what you write is good or bad–just write it. The time for editing is when you have something to edit.
Plan your training. If writing short romance is your goal, work those sprinting muscles. Once a week, write one entire short story. Yes, one story. The story can be any length. But you must write the entire story–beginning, middle and end. Write only the first draft. Write without thinking, “this is good” or “this is bad.” Just write a story. Don’t fret over characters or point of view. Use the characters from your favorite TV show. Rewrite that ending for the movie you saw and didn’t like. This is an exercise. No one’s going to see it, so just have fun! And next week write another story. Work on this story the same day every week, so that your mind starts getting ready. Do it on your worse day–if Wednesdays are usually unproductive, do your story every Wednesday. You are training your writing muscles, working them out, so that they become productive no matter what.
If you want to write longer fiction, your exercise is–write every day. And write only one book at a time. This is important. You are training for a marathon here. You need endurance. You need to learn how to start the a long course and finish it.
If you’re not used to writing every day, start by writing for five minutes every day on your book. (Everyone has five minutes, so no excuses here.) The next day, write for ten minutes. By the end of a week, you’ll be up to 35 minutes a day. Stay at that speed for a week, then boost it to one hour the next week, and so on until you’re working a minimum of two hours a day. You can get a lot done in two hours-and even more, if you’re fast.
That’s your second exercise. Even when writing long books, you still need sprinting muscles. So in addition to your regular time on your book, once a month you’re going to do the sprinting exercise. But with this small change–your goal is to write a ten page story in one day. That’s right–one ten page story. This can be any story–even a childhood fairy tale that you remember, or a story about what happened to you at the car wash last week, but you’re going to write it. The point is to show yourself that you can do it.
These days, I joke that I don’t have time for writer’s block. In fact, I’ve found two tricks to keeping my writing muscles loose and working every day. First, always stop in mid-sentence and mid-scene. (It worked for Hemingway, so it can work for you.) The other trick is that you must write something. No sitting and staring at an empty screen. If you can’t think of how to describe a scene, write dialogue. If you can’t think what the characters should say, write description and narrative. If you can’t think how to do a scene or what should happen, just write what you want to have happen. If this scene isn’t working, change character viewpoint or write about why it isn’t. If all else fails, outline. But you must write. You must write even if your head is empty. You must write even if it is only for the next five minutes…and then the next five minutes…and then the next five minutes. All those five minutes add up.
Just like your characters, you need motivation. Money is one of the best incentives I know to get any writer working–oh, that lovely cash. But a writer who hasn’t yet sold is missing this prime motivator–which is why you’re going to start paying yourself.
Set your pay according to what you can afford, anything from a dollar to ten cents per page. You must pay yourself once a week. And you must put your pay into a visible “piggy bank”–something made out of a clear plastic is perfect. Now if you don’t think that’s much money, add it up. For a 400 page 100,000 word manuscript you’ve earned between $40 and $400 dollars! Even if your thrifty soul screams at this, even if it’s a stretch to make the paycheck cover the bills, you must do this. You must pay yourself something in order to know bone-deep that you are making money! Pay is what makes you know that you can earn money with your writing.
There is one catch–you can’t spend a nickel until after you finish your first draft and do a second-draft edit to smooth all scenes. On the day you write THE END and you’ve removed all those “EDIT” notes you had left, that’s when you open up that piggy bank and celebrate. Spend the money on anything you want–a triple-scoop sundae, new clothes, a writing conference.
Make your writing place comfortably yours. Athletes need good equipment to compete. You don’t see Florence Joyner on the track in ratty cross-trainers with broken shoe laces. Get that pocket dictionary by your desk, buy yourself that wrist rest, make sure your chair and desk are at comfortable heights. This is an investment in yourself and your career. You don’t have to do this overnight. Start with cheep equipment and trade up as you get better and need better equipment.
If you don’t have a computer, make it a priority to get one. On a typewriter, 65 words a minute is my max. (and don’t even count the errors). With a computer, I can push 120 words a minute or more. Computers increase productivity. And they’re getting cheaper by the day–particularly the second-hand models. There’s no way I could produce as much work as I currently do without a computer.
When you take a vacation–or suffer an illness–ease yourself back into your training schedule. You’re an athlete making a comeback, remember. Nothing is more likely to cause a block than to think you’re hitting one because you normally produce ten pages in a week, only this week you barely got two done. When that happens, back up in your training program. Go back to basics. You can strain your writing muscles by working too hard when your out-of-shape.
In each writing session give yourself short breaks. The key word here is short. Get up, walk outside, stretch your back, have a glass of water. Then get back to work. You’ll be more productive for it. I have about four to six good hours of work in me, but I spread that out over eight to ten hours. Learn what your own pace is–watch how you work on the most productive days and copy that pace to make every day just as productive.
There are other techniques you can use–most of them you’ll discover by just observing how you like to work and customizing your training program to work for you. Just remember one thing–a muscle gets stronger with use. Your goal is progress. It’s no good if you spend all day exercising, but only do it once a month. Sure, you get some benefit, but you’re not building long-term muscle. Same goes for writing. It’s a lot harder to write when you don’t do it very often. And, by pushing yourself for a little more each time you flex those muscles, you’ll soon wonder why you ever thought it was so hard just to write a few pages.
Shannon Donnelly's Fresh Ink 