Fewer Choices, Freer Stories

Starting Trouble

Do you ever feel a rush of motivation for a new story, only to watch it drain away the moment the blank page appears? I have this too. For a long time, I assumed the fault was mine, a kind of creative laziness. Now I see it as a widespread condition, a disease of the modern creative world. It is time to find a cure.

Endless options are burning through our decision fuel, a phenomenon psychologists call decision fatigue.

I know the solutions, which I call Starting from the Core and The Art of Elimination. I apply them, and for a while, the momentum feels unstoppable. Then life does what it does best; it intervenes. For me, it was a physical accident that shattered my routines. For others, it might be an illness, a sudden lockdown, or a personal loss. In these moments, the discipline collapses, and the cycle of starting the fire all over again begins.

The Body Knows

I am a storyteller. Every time I begin writing, a pressure builds in my chest. This pressure becomes a vibration that takes over my senses of touch and hearing. Suddenly, every little sound distracts me. It feels as though this internal energy is resonating with everything around me, even the invisible flow of electricity in the walls.

The sensation spreads to my legs, then my hands, and finally to my head. When it reaches my leg, it starts shaking, and anxiety kicks in. When it reaches my hand, I grab my phone and begin to scroll. Half an hour later, by the time the buzz reaches my head, I want to get up from my chair and walk away from the desk. This loop repeats whenever I do not know what I am going to write about.

Once I begin writing, I never stop until I reach the logical conclusion. Writing one whole chapter can take up to a week, sometimes two. Yet after I choose the scene, I do not procrastinate or feel lost. As long as I understand what task is incomplete and needs completion, I have no anxiety.

This stark contrast in my creative process led me to a realization: my struggle was not a personal failure, nor was it a lack of discipline. I was not procrastinating on the act of writing itself. My body was resisting the act of making a choice.

The problem was never the work itself; it was deciding what the work would be, a modern disease born from overwhelming choice. I was experiencing decision fatigue.

What Exactly Is Decision Fatigue?

Decision fatigue is the quiet paralysis that sets in when the daily task of navigating a universe of options exhausts our ability to make a simple choice.

Once I had a name for the disease, my perspective shifted. I saw the pattern everywhere, not just in my creative life but in the small, everyday moments around me. Friends stare at a long menu, then sigh, “You order for me, I cannot choose.” They are not lazy; they are overwhelmed, outsourcing the act of choosing and saving the energy for a simple review afterward.

I remember when my whole family shared one television. Choices were limited to a handful of channels at scheduled times, and the decision was simple, often communal. Today, each of us holds a television in our hand: a phone with countless streaming services and infinite libraries. The decision is no longer simple; it has become a daily task of navigating a vast sea of options that leaves us drained for everything else.

Limited options once conserved energy for what mattered, turning many decisions into a simple yes or no.

That low-level effort follows us to social media, where each notification whispers, “Look at me.” Psychologists call this state choice overload. It peaks when options are complex, the decision feels consequential, or our preferences are unclear. The workload comes from holding, processing, and weighing every option before committing. The final choice feels like relief because the mental load finally drops.

Creators feel it in their craft. A fresh mind can nurse a sentence until it sings, but after hours of editing, the same mind settles for mediocre phrasing, not because it is right, but because it is easy. After a day filled with choices, even deciding what to eat feels monumental. Open a food-delivery app and tap the algorithm’s “best offer,” and the app effectively chooses for you.

Decision Fatigue is the mental tax we pay for constantly evaluating an endless stream of choices, leaving us too drained to choose what we truly want.

The Real Danger of Being Overwhelmed

Constant decision load threatens the power that makes us human, the power of conscious choice. When we grow too tired to choose, we stop acting and start reacting, handing control to algorithms and old habits. Here is how decision fatigue shows up in real life.

• Passive Consumption: After a long day, I once binged three episodes I barely remember. Instead of choosing what I wanted, I defaulted to whatever kept rolling.
• Emotional Persuasion: A tired mind grabs quick emotional hooks and skips thoughtful argument. I buy things or agree to plans that rested me would question.
• Following the Algorithm: Autoplay removes the small friction of pressing “next,” making binge-watching the default. Disable it, and total viewing time drops because I must choose with intention.
• The Death of Curiosity: When too many decisions pile up, I stop asking questions. Fewer questions mean fewer answers and fewer ideas, which quietly dulls my sense of wonder.

Reclaiming Control: Two Strategies That Work

Observing this erosion of personal choice can feel disheartening, but I believe we can reclaim control. I have identified two main strategies that help fight back against decision fatigue.

The first strategy I call Starting from the Core. This is my process. I do not wait for motivation to strike. I open my main project document, ignore the story, the characters, and the plot, and I start typing. The only thing I care about in that moment is the emotion I am currently feeling, be it anger, happiness, or sadness. I focus entirely on expressing that single, authentic feeling directly onto the page. This is the first step. It is a ritual that reminds me that the most important structure is not for the story, but for the storyteller.

This first step is just the beginning. The process then unfolds based on one of three emotional states: negative, positive, or neutral. With a negative emotion, the path is simple: I pour my heart out. With a positive emotion, the work is more reflective. I use that energy to document what makes me happy or to organize my past work. The greatest challenge is the neutral state. When the blank page is at its most intimidating, I turn outward and draw energy from the world by asking myself a series of questions: What has frustrated me most in recent times? Which incident has motivated me to tell a story? Who am I telling this story for?

The most powerful part of this process is that I don’t have to consciously bridge my personal feeling to the story. The connection happens on its own. This works because of one key principle: radical privacy. I know this initial, raw writing is for me alone; it will be transformed into a story later. This knowledge gives me the freedom to be brutally honest, to write without a filter. Through this self-confrontation, story ideas and images emerge naturally, already linked to the emotion I am exploring. I write down whatever scene comes to me, knowing that any starting point is valid. The process is about creating the parts first and trusting myself to find the best way to glue them together later. Honest writing frees the imagination.

Ignition (Starting from the Core)

• Open the project file and scroll past every outline and note.
• Write down a single word that captures your strongest feeling right now; for example, anger, relief, boredom.
• Free-write for five minutes about that feeling. Keep the words private and unedited.
• Skim what you wrote and pull out one scene seed. The seed needs three bullets:
  • a place
  • a desire the character feels in that place
  • an obstacle in the way
• Stop writing and save the file. Tomorrow you will expand that seed into real pages.

The second strategy is The Art of Elimination. This is more than just saying no; it’s a philosophy guided by a single principle: Reason is king. For any choice, big or small, I require a strong reason to act. If an invitation, a suggestion, or even a movie recommendation lacks a compelling reason, the default answer is no.

The art lies in how this principle is applied. I’ve learned to say no to the prescribed solutions from others, while still accepting the underlying problem they’ve identified. I will then find my own path forward. The art is also in the empathy of trying to understand the emotional motivation behind a person’s request before refusing. Often, a reasonable counter-offer is all that’s needed.

The most difficult application of this art is saying no to myself. But the rule is the same. If an impulse isn’t backed by a strong reason, it is not an action to be taken but a personal problem to be understood. This practice is the vital tool that builds a protective barrier around the mental energy needed for my real goals.

Shield (The Art of Elimination)

• One-tool kit. Work in a single writing app, in one font, with one template until Friday. No mid-week tweaks.
• Environmental locks. Phone out of reach, notifications off, streaming autoplay disabled.
• Seventy-two-hour shelf. Any bright new idea or invitation waits three days. If it still matters afterward, it earns a slot; if not, it fades without guilt.
• Reason test. Before saying yes, finish the sentence “I choose this because ___.” If you cannot complete the line, the answer is no.
• Kind refusals. Acknowledge the emotion behind a request, decline the ready-made solution, and suggest your own path if one exists.

Conclusion: The Freedom of Fewer Choices

I have named the disease of modern abundance, and I rely on Starting from the Core and The Art of Elimination to fight its symptoms. They clear the fog and return me to the starting line, but the lasting cure is creation itself. Make something, share it, receive feedback, and begin again.

As I finish these lines, the pressure in my chest has faded. The vibration is gone; the phone is face-down, silent. My hand rests on the keys, ready for one word, then the next. The story moves because the choosing is already done.

References

• Chernev, A., Böckenholt, U., & Goodman, J. (2015). Choice Overload: A Conceptual Review and Meta-Analysis. Journal of Consumer Psychology, 25(2), 333-358.
• Hsiang, E. Y., et al. (2022). Association of Primary Care Clinic Session Time With Clinician Ordering and Patient Completion of Cancer Screening. JAMA Network Open, 5(8), e2226343.
• Pignatiello, G. A., Martin, R. J., & Hickman, R. L. (2020). Decision fatigue: A conceptual review. JBI Evidence Synthesis, 18(12), 2558-2583.
• Scheibehenne, B., Greifeneder, R., & Todd, P. M. (2010). Can there ever be too many options? A meta-analytic review of choice overload. Journal of Consumer Research, 37(3), 409-425.
• Sharma, V., & Chen, L. (2025). The Friction Effect: How Disabling Autoplay Alters Streaming Behavior. University of Chicago Press.