A question that every writer is bound to face sooner or later is,”What is the best time to write?”

The politically correct answer would be: “When inspiration strikes” or even a, “When you feel like it.”

But if you write on a regular basis, or have a regularly updated blog, I am sure, you are aware that waiting for inspiration to strike you is a definite recipe for not getting anything written. Sometimes, you are so far from being inspired that you are actually looking for excuses to do anything but write. How can you get yourself to write during such times?

If you want to be taken seriously as a writer, or a blogger, you have to meet deadlines and, more likely than not, write according to a schedule. Also, if you want to make money as a writer, writing to a schedule becomes even more important.

When runner Roger Bannister (now Sir Roger Bannister) propelled his body across an Oxford track finish line on a blustery day in May 1954, he was reasonably confident he had achieved a four-minute mile.

The rest of the universe, however, was stunned. The world record (until then, 4:01.4) had stood for nine years and sportswriters of the day had created an enormous mystique around the four-minute mark. They convinced a willing-to-believe public that it was an unreachable, unrealistic and possibly even dangerous goal.

So what does this have to do with writing? Well, the Bannister story sprang to my mind this week as I was coaching a client who was thoroughly convinced that she could not write quickly. She’s not alone in her passionately-held belief.

“Bad guys” are expected to look repulsive and to live in dark, eerie places. Superhero adventures and fairytales make villains easy to detect. Haven’t we all seen their brooding expression, occasionally offset by a smug smile, suddenly explode into an arrogant laugh as they bask in the pleasure of having successfully created chaos?

Foes are not so obvious (or comical) in real life. We cannot so easily spot the child abuser, the terrorists and the thieves among us. It’s hard to predict if someone is about to “go postal” or is simply on the verge of a burnout. Neither is it evident to tell the religiously devout apart from the dangerous fanatic or the animal rights champion from the brash, pied-piper activist willing to use terrorist means of coercion.

In our day and age, principles of morality and ethical responsibility are considered relative; standards for one person may not necessarily apply to another, given the priority assigned to the values in question and the particular circumstance surrounding each case. The boundary between right and wrong has become increasingly foggy, and traditional values are more likely to be abandoned than upheld. Despite this trend, the battle between good and evil wages inside the very heart and soul of humanity’s integrity and extends outward to encompass our every social connection.

Okay. So you’ve figured out that you would like to write. Unfortunately, so have about eight gazillion other people on this planet. Therefore, you have to stand out from the crowd. You have to sparkle. How do you do this? Simple. It all starts with “The Big Idea.”  The first secret you must learn in this funny business is that you don’t actually have to write the whole article/story/editorial/etc. to get a job. In fact, only bright green novices attempt to write the whole thing before selling it. What you do need, however, is the IDEA for the great story. You will use this great idea to convince editors to pay you exorbitant amounts of money via a proposal letter (called a “query letter.” But you’ll learn about that in a minute.)

So, where will you find this Big Idea? Well, you’ve heard that wise old adage, “write what you know.” That’s a wonderful mantra for finding your jumping-off point. You don’t need to stick to “what you know” for the specific focus of your story, but tap into your already huge vat of knowledge to find the story’s basis. This is how you will become an expert. Experts are in demand. People with “stories” aren’t. What you have to do is sneak your stories into your areas of expertise. Example: let’s say your hobbies and interests include fishing, watching talk shows, and traveling. Good! You are a potential expert in those areas. Jot these things down. Now comes the fun part: brainstorming.

The biggest mistake you can make in pitching your story is being too general. Never, ever send a letter to the editor suggesting “an article about fishing.” Not even “an article about fishing in Florida.” This vagueness is not appropriate for short writing. In general, you will be expected to write somewhere between 800 and 2000 words on your topic. You couldn’t possibly tell us “all about fishing” in 2000 words. What you could do, however, is give us “a comparison of twelve different lures used to catch sailfish.” Or “the pros and cons of joining a fishing club.” Or even “how the moon can tell you if it’ll be a good fishing day.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” You don’t want to imitate a favorite author, but you can learn a lot from him or her.

Whether you create notes for plot and character development first or dive into writing your novel, you want to get as much written as possible in your first draft. An efficient way to do this is write first, edit after. Avoid the temptation to re-read what you’ve written over and over again when you should be writing new content. You know you’re going to have to edit and rewrite (you do know this, right?). Your primary focus is to let your imagination and fingers fly so you create something to work with.

Let’s assume your first draft is completed and you’re ready to move into the phase where you work it (and work it even more) until it’s a final draft ready to go to an editor, agent, or be self-published.

LIKE THE arcane process of film developing in a darkroom tray, several Laws of the Novelist have appeared, and are offered as a guide to those so inclined.

Law Number One: Don’t Believe Teachers. The son of a dentist, I always wanted to be a writer. At college I worked like hell on the first essay of the freshman writing course, and got it back with one comment, in red letters: “See me.’’ Her feedback: “This is too terrible to mark, it’s below F.’’ Devastated, I tried again, and again, and always: “See me. Still below F.’’ Later that year, I was on the golf team with a blond Adonis named Ray. He said he was getting a straight A. Ray was a great golfer, but could barely talk, much less write. “What, you an A?’’ “Yeah. I’ve been sleeping with her all year.’’