Instead of Willpower, I Rely on Friction
Looking back at last year’s monthly output, I averaged about 12,000 words of newsletters, two 15-minute videos with 4,000-word scripts each, and more than 12 hours of livestreaming. After all that screen work, I still went to the gym to complete my weekly strength and cardio routine.
As a slashie creator, this routine has stretched to my limit for now.
From the audience and my friends’ point of view, they care less about the workflow behind it and more about the quality and consistency of what I publish.
One friend often watched me struggle near deadlines and told me, half teasing and half certain:
“Whenever you yell that you’re doomed, that’s exactly when I know you’ll finish.”
People used to think I had sophisticated goal systems or superhuman discipline.
But I did not.
Productivity tools and goal templates on the market do make tasks easy to see at a glance. Some even let you add AI prompts, push reminders from morning to night, and increase stickiness through streak rewards.
In theory, that design is almost flawless.
In practice, one light swipe is enough for it to forgive my laziness.
Over time, I realized the problem was not the tool. It was me. I did not need a stronger system; I could always find an easier exit.
In other words, I am just afraid of trouble, not the trouble of doing the work, but the trouble of putting myself in a situation where not doing it becomes even more troublesome.
In my life, dates have mostly lost meaning. I do not care what day of the month it is. I care what weekday it is and what task is bound to it:
- Monday: livestream
- Tuesday and Friday: newsletter
- Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday: gather material
- Sunday: report to my editor
That is basically my whole life.
So terms like “annual goals” and “productivity management” barely exist for me. I simply follow the schedule.
And this rhythm works not because I am highly disciplined, but because I started using arrangements that have no notification sound and cannot be swiped away. One example is a fixed 50-minute one-way ride every week to face my editorial deadline rhythm. Another is turning my aversion to trouble into a force that pushes me forward.
Outsource Topic Choice to History and Avoid Anxiety
When running a gaming channel, the most annoying thing is not editing or scriptwriting. It is the anxiety of choosing what to make today.
I used to chase traffic: whatever was hot, I chased. But reality is harsh. Full-time streamers can push nonstop. Big channels can get early publisher access. For a solo part-time creator like me, even if I stay up to rush production, the traffic bonus is usually gone by the time the video is out.
Worse, if I lose interest halfway, quitting means wasted time and money. Forcing myself through it wears down my soul.
So instead of chasing algorithms, I changed one thing: I outsourced topic selection to the 25-year release history of Koei Tecmo’s Dynasty Warriors series.
I made a list and played through it title by title in release order. That list fills about two and a half years of schedule. The moment I gave up the “freedom to choose,” I gained another kind of freedom.
I no longer needed to anxiously watch social trends or race algorithms.
Yes, I lost some hot-topic traffic. In return, I got something steadier: nostalgia from long-time viewers.
At the same time, I could better appreciate differences between entries and spend the saved mental energy on script depth and editing rhythm. As long as hardware supports it, I do not skip a title, no matter how interested I am.
Because once you use “not interested” as an excuse to skip one game, you will find a new excuse for the next one. A two-year list becomes shorter and shorter. Instead of escaping, I hand the topic to history and focus on execution.
That is how I got rid of the trouble of choosing topics.
Turn Inertia Into Forward Motion
If outsourcing decisions solved my topic trouble, the next step was turning inertia itself into momentum.
Monday at 8 p.m. is my fixed stream time. People may think this is about community management. In reality, the main reason I sit in front of the mic is simple: avoiding the trouble of posting a cancellation notice.
At the end of each stream, while saying goodbye to the dozen or so people in chat, I always say:
“See you next week.”
That casual sentence is both proof of operation and a promise to viewers. Unless I have prior plans announced in advance, if I suddenly feel lazy on Monday and skip, I need to post a leave notice, and that cost is higher than it sounds.
A notice is not just a few typed words. I also need an excuse I can accept myself. Sometimes, to calm viewers, I need to add extra promises like “I’ll stream on Wednesday instead” or “I’ll upload a new video this Friday.”
The moment I realized dodging those three hours only creates a longer and more tedious to-do list later, my inertia flips direction. Rather than spending brainpower on compensation plans, I would rather sit down and start now.
So even when I just woke up and my mind is blank, I still turn on the key light with a straight face and hit “go live.”
Besides, those three hours are not only verbal output. I also get ready-made information from viewer comments and gather first-round material for upcoming scripts.
That same inertia, “posting a notice is such a hassle,” is exactly what gets me seated at my desk on time.
Turn Fixed Costs Into Delivery Constraints
Capturing gameplay footage is only prep work. The real weekly checkpoint is Sunday. Every Sunday, I must bring a draft and ride 50 minutes one way to see my editor.
After he enjoys the snack I bring, we start our two-person review: Is this punchline sharp enough? Does this scene land? All revision directions are forced out in that room.
But everyone procrastinates or runs dry sometimes.
If I cannot produce a draft by Sunday, I still need to ride out under sun and wind for 50 minutes to “apologize in person,” then ask for a two-day buffer. The extra penalty arrives on Tuesday: another 100-minute round trip. To avoid this pointless time waste and physical drain, “no delay unless absolutely cornered” became my production rule.
When you have to pay the extra cost of fixing procrastination, the least troublesome option is simply following the schedule.
More interestingly, the long ride itself became one of my favorite moments. In that physical space where I cannot scroll and cannot skip, I hear only the engine. With open roads and sparse traffic, those 50 minutes become my purest weekly review time: What did I do this week? Which absurd ideas are worth extending?
Thoughts I ruminate on asphalt are eventually gathered like salvage and become ready material for next week’s newsletter.
Not Perfect Tools, Just Higher Cost of Avoidance
Maybe you do not need perfect tools. What you need is a commitment target with a little sting and a space that forces reflection. After admitting your own weakness and inertia, the next step is putting yourself into a schedule where “not doing it is even more troublesome.”
When even avoidance feels exhausting, the productivity you have been searching for can finally start moving.
In the end, I did not survive on stronger willpower. I moved forward by designing a system where not doing the work is more troublesome, then letting that system push me toward completion.