In 2022, a study by the University of Cambridge found something strange:
when people were told to “just start writing,” their stress levels dropped within two minutes - even if what they wrote was nonsense.

But most of us never get to that stage.

We open a blank page, stare at it, and wait for inspiration like it’s a guest that’s running late.
Then we start checking email. Or cleaning the room. Or deciding that maybe tomorrow we’ll be in the right mood to write.

That’s not laziness. It’s protection.

The human brain avoids uncertainty the same way it avoids pain.
A blank page is pure uncertainty - infinite options and zero direction.
And because there’s no feedback yet, no progress bar, your brain labels it as a threat.

That’s why you’ll do anything to avoid it.

Even the best writers in history admit this.
Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
He wasn’t being poetic - he was being accurate.

Every sentence is a small act of courage.

But here’s the thing: courage is a system, not a feeling.
It builds with structure.

That’s why writers use rituals - playlists, coffee, the same seat every day - to trick their brains into starting.
Structure lowers uncertainty. And once you start, fear loses its power.

Draftley works the same way.
It doesn’t remove the human part - it just lowers the barrier to beginning.
You give it a few notes or past essays, and suddenly the blank page isn’t blank anymore.

You see ideas forming.
You react. You edit. You own it.

That’s the real psychology of writing.
It’s not about creativity.
It’s about momentum.

And once you’re in motion, something shifts.
The cursor stops blinking like it’s judging you.
You stop second-guessing.

The words start to come.
Not because the fear is gone -
but because you finally decided to start anyway.