Writing Through Brain Fog

Picture this: You’re sitting at your writing desk, an idea in your head, a deadline looming, and your brain and your hands suddenly don’t want to work together. The cursor stares at you, its static blinking mocking you with every passing second. You know it’s not writer’s block because the ideas are there. You can see the outline of ideas, words, and sentences in your mind, but getting from where you are to where you think your piece needs to go seems nearly impossible. This is heavier than writer's block. Think of it as radio static but for your brain. You have the ideas in your head, but the clarity you need to finish a paragraph, or even a simple sentence, feels just out of reach.

When discussing writing, you often hear about the idea of a “flow state,” the holy grail of the writing craft. What we don’t discuss enough is the opposite end of this spectrum, when things slow down, when the batteries in your brain run low but your desire to create still burns. How do you bridge that gap?

To keep the momentum alive, I want to explore ways to keep the keys moving when you hear the static. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is lower the bar just enough to slowly climb over it. Today, we’re looking at practical ways to do exactly that, as well as ways to cope when the fog is too thick.

What Brain Fog Actually Feels Like

I know the term “brain fog” sounds terribly vague, so let me clarify it a little. It sounds almost metaphorical, but trust me, this is no metaphor. 

On days when the brain fog grips me, I open my laptop with every intention of getting some words down; I’m even excited to do it. I know what I want to say until I actually try to say it. Somehow, the thought slips away as if it hadn’t been there at all. Think of it like trying to remember a word that’s right on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it. Now imagine that happening with entire concepts. 

I read sentences I wrote seconds earlier with no memory of doing so. I get anxious, wondering if it makes sense, so I check it. The worst part, I can’t tell if it makes sense. I reread it countless times and still can’t tell. 

The next paragraph, I forget what the point is halfway through. Frustration grips me as I scroll back up, trying to remember what the hell I was talking about. Sometimes this happens multiple times in the same paragraph, which only compounds my frustration and leads to further issues.

Suddenly, I forget how to type. More typos, most of which staring at me the whole time because I turn off spell check and autocorrect while I’m drafting. More backspace presses, more frustration. My hands and brain feel like separate entities. There’s an uncomfortable lag between thinking of something and putting it down on paper. 

The worst part? Anxiety, which plagues me daily anyway. Then comes that voice that says, “You aren’t thinking clearly, so your writing is even worse than usual. Just wait till you feel better.” But “better” may not come for days, or even weeks.

So what to do?

What Doesn’t Work (And Why We Keep Trying Anyway)

“Just push through”: If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard this, I wouldn’t need to work the rest of my life. Power through the fog with willpower and determination. That’s what “real writers” do, right?

But it doesn’t work. Pushing yourself harder when your brain is already foggy just adds to the frustration. You end up staring at the screen, cursor blinking incessantly, driving you farther into the fog. You write two or three sentences, hate them all, and feel worse than when you sat down. Willpower can’t fix what the brian doesn’t think is broken.

Wait until you feel better: Sounds like a good idea, right? Why force yourself to write what you know will be awful when you can wait until later?

Simple, it’s because later never comes. Either that or it comes two or three weeks later.
By that time, your momentum is gone, as are your ideas. The only thing left is a stronger belief that you can only write under ideal conditions. Waiting for clarity becomes an inevitable loop that never ends.

“Just write something easy”: The logic here seems solid on paper (see what I did there?). On foggy days, just focus on simple tasks and stay away from demanding ones.

The problem with that is simple. Every task feels demanding when you’re experiencing brain fog. Responding to an email can feel like climbing a mountain. Writing out your grocery list feels like one of those tests you had to take as a kid where your score affected the entire school’s reputation. Long story short—I did it again. There’s no “easy task” when your brain isn’t cooperating.

“Take care of yourself first: Rest, hydrate, eat right, get your exercise, meditate. All sound advice. All things we all should do.

Sometimes, however, the fog doesn’t leave me no matter how much effort I put into my health. Sometimes it’s just there, an omnipresent condition I just have to deal with. It’s not that self-care doesn’t help—it does—but it doesn’t provide any type of cure. If I wait for the perfect self-care routine before I write, I might never get back to it at all. 

.What Actually Helps (From Someone Who’s Been There)

I haven’t solved this problem, and I will not pretend that I have. There are still days my brian just does not want to cooperate when I want to write. I still struggle, but here’s what I’ve learned through trial and error on days when writing felt impossible but I did it, anyway.

1. Lower Your Standards (Seriously)

When you’re suffering from brain fog, the goal isn’t to write well. The goal is to get words down. 

Give yourself permission to write terribly. It seems simple, but it’s the truth. The best way to lift the fog is the same as dealing with writer’s block. Give yourself permission to write badly. I do this regularly. I use the term “zero draft” for these messy, incoherent pages in which I lay the groundwork for my project. I have no expectation for any of the words to be usable. They just need to exist. 

“You can’t edit a blank page.” One of my favorite writing quotes from Jodi Picoult. More times than not—much to my surprise—the writing I produce on days my brian feels fogged turns out much better than I expected once I let my head clear and read it later. 

2. Write in Shorter Bursts

On a normal, clear day, I can write for hours. On a foggy day, I’m lucky to get a half hour in before my brain says “no more.”

So I write in half hour bursts, then take a break for another cup of coffee or a snack. Sometimes, I just get up and walk around my office or stare out the patio window before coming back to the office or laptop for another 20 minutes. Three 20-minute burst sessions gets me an hour of writing, even if it doesn’t feel like I got any actual work done. 

I usually set a timer, either on my computer or my watch, for half an hour at a time. I write until the timer goes off, stopping without guilt as soon as it does. The timer gives me permission to stop after a quick session because I completed the goal I set for myself.

3. Use Handwriting (Yes, I’m Serious)

When the cursor’s incessant blinking makes me want to run a hand through the screen or throw my computer out the window, I turn to the pen. 

There’s something about writing by hand that activates a different part of my brain. Perhaps it’s the slower, more deliberate pace. My hand can’t move as fast as my fingers do when typing, and that lessens the pressure to keep up with racing thoughts. I love the tactile feedback of the pen scratching across the page. The lack of a cursor blinking at me makes pen and paper quite appealing on my worst brain fog days.

I keep a notebook and fountain pen nearby anytime I’m writing. At this moment, I have both just off to my right. When the digital world mocks me, I pick up one of my favorite pens and write whatever comes to mind, stream of consciousness. Messy thoughts, sentence fragments, whatever comes out.

Later, sometimes days later, I’ll transcribe the writing into a digital format. Transcription for me is another form of editing, a natural edit. I sometimes surprise myself with the amount of usable material that comes from these seemingly nonsensical writings. 

4. Talk It Out First

I usually express my thoughts better on paper than I do out lout—it can be a problem sometimes—but there are times I have trouble getting my thoughts out on paper. On those days, I try to speak them into existence, literally. I open an app on my phone, usually Google Docs or a voice note app, and just talk. No script, no plan, just talking, hoping something will come of it. 

When I’m at my worst with brain fog, talking things out seems to help. It bypasses the part of my brain that tells me I’m stuck. I’d be lying if I said words came easier when speaking as a general rule, but sometimes they do. It’s comical sometimes because my family members think I’m talking to them—or worse, to myself. Once I’ve talked everything out, I’ve got something to work with. Though I can’t stand the sound of my voice, I can transcribe the verbal expression if need be. Just like that, I’ve got words despite the fog. 

Sometimes, I’ll talk an idea out with a friend or family member. I used to do this a lot with my late friend Steve. He was my sounding board when I was stuck. I’d start a conversation with him saying something like, “I’m trying to write this piece and here’s what I’m thinking.” By the time I’ve finished explaining, Steve would usually tell me to go ahead and write it, and after talking it out, I could do exactly that. 

5. Accept That Some Days Are Just Bad

This is the toughest pill to swallow some days. Some days, writing through brain fog means getting 200 words instead of 2,000, and I’ve learned to be ok with that. 

Not every writing session needs to meet normal standards. I try to write at least 500 words a day between whatever projects I’m working on, but some days that’s just not possible. On a brain fog day, “productive” might mean:

• Writing three sentences

• Editing one paragraph

• Organizing notes

• Reading research material

• Just showing up and trying

I’ve learned to celebrate small wins on the bad days instead of beating myself up for not meeting arbitrary standards. Did I open the document? If yes, that’s a win. Did I write a sentence? If the answer is yes, that’s also a win. Did I spend 10 minutes trying even though nothing came out? It counts.

The alternative—not writing at all on foggy days—means perpetuating the belief that I can only write under absolutely ideal conditions. The fact is, conditions are never perfect. 

6. Trust the Process (Even When It Feels Wrong)

Here’s a realization that surprised me once I accepted it: the work I do on brain fog days is often better than I allow myself to believe in the moment. 

When the fog is hanging over me, everything feels wrong. I’m convinced that what I’m writing is terrible, but when I come back to it later, mind clearer, I find it’s actually not that bad. Sometimes, it’s even good.

Brain fog is a mist of lies. It tells me I’m producing nonsense when in reality I’m producing drafts that just need refining. The fog is yet another layer of self-doubt, but the work itself is usually workable after some editing.

I’ve learned to trust the process, to write through the fog. Even when my mind tells me it doesn’t feel right, I’ve learned to listen to my heart, which tells me to keep going. I now know there’s a difference between something “feeling bad,” and actually “being bad.” Words first, quality later, I tell myself, and forge ahead.

Brain Fog and Writing: The Honest Truth

Here’s something I wish someone had told me years ago: you don’t have to wait until you’re in perfect mental shape to write. In fact, if you do, you’ll get nothing done. You don’t need clarity, focus, or ideal conditions. All you need is to show up and give it your best shot.

Some days, giving it your all means 2,000 words. Other days, it’s 200. Both numbers count because either way it’s more words than you had when you woke up that morning. It all matters because it all gets you closer to the ultimate goal of finishing your project.

Brain fog doesn’t make you less of a writer. It just means you have to be more lenient in your definition of “productive” on tough days. It means lowering your standards when necessary, accepting the imperfections that are part of what makes writing an art, and trusting your own ability to turn a messy draft into something great later.

I’ve fought through many brain fog days to write many of my blog posts, essays and short stories. Though I didn’t see it that way at the time, some of my best work rose from the ashes of sessions I thought were lost and wasted. Brain fog distorts one’s perception of quality, but when you come out on the other side, you see the work isn’t that bad after all.

The goal isn’t to eliminate brain fog—I couldn’t control that in my dreams. The goal is to keep writing in the face of it, to be flexible enough to adjust processes on hard days instead of throwing in the towel entirely.

What This Looks Like in Practice

I’ll give you an authentic example from my life and process this week. 

I sat down to write this article on Sunday evening. Starting an article in the evening is not something I normally do. I usually write at least the first two sections while I’m having coffee in the morning. But on this Sunday, I wasn’t feeling much like writing. I woke up with every intention of knocking this article out all in one go—2,000+ words in one shot—and had it fleshed out and structured before the end of that morning session. 

Spoiler alert: It didn’t happen that way.

Instead, I wrote the introductory section you read at the top of the page, something that normally takes me 10 or 15 minutes. On Sunday, however, all my ducks that were supposed to be in a row suddenly turned into drunk squirrels running around everywhere. I rewrote the same sentence 5 different times. I stared at the screen multiple times, forgetting what point I was trying to make.

After about an hour, I had one paragraph written, and I’d had it.

The next day, I felt a little less foggy. I wrote the “What Doesn’t Work” section of this article. That took about an hour, and it felt considerably easier. 

The following day, I wrote about what actually helps brain foggy days. Another hour, but it was an hour full of words that flowed naturally. 

By the time I finish this article, it will have taken me three separate writing sessions across multiple days. If I'd waited for one clear day to write it straight through, I’d still be waiting and you wouldn’t be reading this. Instead, I took a few days to put together a complete draft that said what I wanted it to say, even if the process was messier than usual.

That’s what writing through brain fog looks like, at least for me. It’s glamorous or heroic. It will not impress anyone. It all comes down to showing up on tough days and doing whatever you can.

The Bottom Line 

You don’t need a clear mind to write. It’s more about being patient with yourself and being flexible throughout the process. Nothing will be perfect the first time around, and accepting that goes a long way to beating the fog. 

Brain fog is frustrating, disorienting, and at times relentless. It doesn’t disqualify you from being a writer. It just means you have to adapt to conditions.

I think most writers are inherently perfectionists. On foggy days, it’s important to lower the bar of perfectionism, if only slightly. Grab a pen and notebook if the keyboard and blinking cursor drive you nuts. Use the technology we have. Use your phone or computer to talk out your ideas if typing or handwriting doesn’t feel right. Accept the idea that some days there will be 200 words on the page rather than 2,000.

Most importantly, you must trust the work that comes out on hard days and tell yourself that it’s better than your brain will allow you to believe in the moment. Like an encroaching mist, the fog distorts your vision, your perspective, but it doesn’t prevent you from creating something worthwhile. 

I wrote this article across multiple days, some foggy, some not. You’re reading it now. It exists. Against all odds, I hit the big “Publish” button. That’s proof enough that writing through the fog is possible. 

Not easy or comfortable, but possible. Sometimes, that’s enough.

Do you suffer from brain fog? What do you do when it hits? How do you keep the creative flow going when your mind is screaming at you to stop? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.