Not the first exercise in Brande’s Becoming a Writer, but certainly the first new habit she asks readers to incorporate into their daily routine–the first lifestyle change, if you will–is “waking to write in the morning.”

So if you are to have the full benefit of the richness of the unconscious you must learn to write easily and smoothy when the unconscious is in the ascendent. The best way to do this is to rise half an hour, or a full hour, earlier than you customarily rise. Just as soon as you can–and without talking, without reading the morning’s paper, without picking up the book you laid aside the night before–begin to write.

This routine is not unlike Julia Cameron’s “morning pages” (The Artist’s Way) in that it is to precede any chance the waking world may have to influence your thoughts, and “any words at all which are not pure nonsense” are fair game: memories of the day before, plans for the day ahead, philosophical manifestos, the bones of a story, the dream you just woke from, even an exploration of why you find it hard to comply with Brande’s instructions.

The true reason for this exercise Brande only reveals in a later chapter, as discussing it may interfere with the way the reader carries out the assignment. But other benefits of waking to write are evident. Primarily, it’s an infallible way to wedge a new habit into a busy life. By setting your alarm clock back, you literally make time that’s all yours; by filling that time with writing, you’re making a statement about what’s important to you. I think it’s not too melodramatic to say that, by decreeing that every day shall start with an inviolable hour of writing, you’re defining your existence.

Who are you making statements to? To whom do you present this definition? To yourself. Often we forget that the first person we need to convince is always ourselves. Waking to write, you convince yourself that writing is important, writing is daily, and writing is something you can do. And if this sounds a little like multiple personalities, well, good. One of Brande’s specific goals is to help the reader cultivate a little multiplicity. You are a different person when you write than when you critique, and you are a different person again when you’re coming up with ideas. And the you that says “Look, I can do this,” is different from the you that says, “Are you sure? Because I’m not.”

I think it’s likely that writing first thing in the morning can also improve one’s dream recall. In fact, books on dream work usually suggest fomenting this habit as their first exercise, too. Set your alarm clock a little earlier so as to surprise yourself mid-REM, grab your notebook, and if you can’t remember an actual dream then just write down whatever’s on your mind. Eventually, days or weeks later, dream memories will more reliably show up. Again, you’re sending a message to yourself, and that message is, “I’m paying attention. Speak.” As regards dreams, the message’s recipient is the unconscious mind; as regards writing, the intended recipient is, as many of us like to mythologize it, the Muse. I once heard Tom Robbins say, when his book tour took him to Denver’s Tattered Cover bookstore, that he shows up at the page faithfully every morning at the same time so that the Muse would know where to find him; Stephen King expressed a similar sentiment when he wrote about waiting for the “half-wild beast” to show up.

It’s no coincidence that methods for attracting inspiration and attracting dream memories can be so similar; both involve connecting with your unconscious mind–the very thing Brande insists is integral to awakening your inborn genius.

Now, me, I don’t really have a daily wake-up time to start with. I bike two days a week to the office where I work part-item, I accompany my husband to his work place once a week for flying lessons at the FBO a block from his office, and the other days I tend to sleep late. On the days I’m due somewhere I tend to hit the snooze button until I have no time to do anything but roll out of bed into my clothes and out the door. Which simply means that I need to instill two new habits, not just one: wake to write, and wake on time.

Tomorrow I need to be at the FBO for 9:00 AM. And for once I have to go by bus, so that means out the door by 7:25 AM. To do that, I’d usually set the alarm for 7. I’ll set it for 6 instead, and respond to its noise not by hitting snooze but by taking up my laptop and writing for a full half hour.

Some professional writers get up at 4 AM every day. I think I can manage 6:00. How about you?