I had seventy-two last year ...

One year.

One one family of four.

Seventy-two appointments.

And that’s without counting work, school or sporting commitments.

I actually tallied. Because, the year prior, I’d felt like our calendar was endlessly full of clutter. And I desperately wanted to learn whether, when someone asked to catch up or we yet again couldn’t find a window to get away for a bit of respite, I might have been … imagining we were that busy?

Appointments always live in the margins of life: doctors, dentists, specialists, hair-cuts, parent-teacher meetings and the like.

But seventy-two?

That’s six every month! Around three a fortnight. Extra THINGS we were squeezing in.

That wasn’t the data I was expecting.

Seventy-two times, we stopped everything else and prioritised these mostly-necessary activities.

Which is, I quickly realised, exactly how I had to think about writing my novel.

And I DID write a novel, in that same year, with school, work, up to five sporting commitments a week and with 72 appointments on top.

Because writing a book doesn’t happen in the gaps around life, particularly when you’re in an era of family life with no natural, discernible gaps.

It only happens when you treat it like an appointment you keep.

A real one. Written down.

Defended.

An inky entry in that over-crowded calendar.

When life is already so full, prioritising isn’t about motivation or discipline or romantic ideas about inspiration. It’s about honesty - with yourself and others. It’s about deciding what gets a seat at the table and what doesn’t.

It’s recognising that if you can show up 72 times a year for things you didn’t choose -but, of course, that still contribute to your life - you can also show up for a thing you do choose.

A novel doesn’t need hours and hours every day. But it does need consistency. It needs you to keep the appointment even when you’re tired, even when the house is noisy, even when it would be easier to scroll or postpone.

Because tomorrow fills up fast.

My waking time was 5.30 am most of 2025. One day on the odd weekend, I might sleep in until 6.30 or 7 am, if someone else fended off the dog asking for his breakfast.

And almost every week, for somewhere between three and five days, I’d write over Zoom with a bunch of other aspiring novelists from 6.30 - 7.30 am. We were - still are - called Words @ Dawn.

(And yes, not everywhere in Australia or at every time of the year was it actually dawn, but you see the point.)

We preserved that writing time in our calendars. We prioritised it, and - all things being equal - we showed up.

The 72 appointments won’t go away any time soon.

The calendar will never be empty.

So, the BIG question, I think, isn’t whether you’re busy - it’s what you’re willing to protect despite the busyness.

Do you protect your writing time?

Do you make writing an appointment you are not willing to cancel?

By Klaire Johnston

More posts about writing and other stuff on my Substack page.