There are things I fought hard against when I was younger that I wish I could do now. Nap time is number one on my list. When I was a toddler, I hated having to take a nap. I was afraid I was going to miss something fun. I fussed and whined and pleaded, but I was still put down for a nap. I’d lie there, pretending to be asleep for a few minutes, then act as if I had just woken up, refreshed and ready to go. My mother never bought it, however, and soon “Robbie, lay your ass back down before I make you cry yourself to sleep!” echoed throughout the house. Now, however, I would take that nap in the blink of an eye.
In some of the warmer climates, naps are taken after the midday meal. Businesses close and shop owners go home for a long lunch and to kick off their shoes for a bit. And they’re smart to do it. Research shows that an afternoon nap helps reduce stress, improves cognitive skills, and causes us to be more alert. We’re not only more efficient, but we gain better health when we catch an hour’s snooze.
I don't know about you, but around two o'clock every day my motivation and output cuts in half. Okay, more like it cuts down to a quarter of what it was when I began my day. I'm sluggish, irritable, and have a hard time focusing. It doesn't matter how active I was prior to that. At two o’clock, I slip into low gear and slow motion. Anything I produce is worthless, and scrapped the next day.
This is especially true now that writing is not just my passion—it’s my full-time world. Between drafting chapters, building fictional universes complete with their own rules and mythologies, plotting out character arcs that have to carry emotional weight across an entire series, and running a bookstore on top of all of that, the creative demands on my brain by afternoon are substantial. World building alone is the kind of mental labor that doesn’t show up in word counts. You’re not just writing; you’re architecting whole civilizations, layered magic systems, interconnected timelines, and emotional landscapes that have to feel real and breathing to a reader. That takes everything you’ve got, and by two o’clock, I've given it all I had.
If I can lay down for forty-five minutes to an hour, however, I feel re-energized. My patience is better, my thinking clearer, and my creativity sharper. The girls say I’m not as grumpy, either. I’ll buy it. I wake up refreshed and ready to go another eight hours—which, when you’re mid-chapter and a plot twist is knocking around in the back of your brain, is exactly what you need. Some of my best story ideas have surfaced in that drowsy, half-awake space between nap and waking. Turns out, resting your mind is one of the most productive things a writer can do.
I read where in some countries, siestas are not necessarily due to climate, but rather more about culture. It’s a culture I can get behind. I won’t even argue about being made to take one. I promise.
You would think Big Business would take naps into consideration when putting their employees’ work days together. The research proves that people are more productive after a nap. Instead, however, Big Business tries to squeeze ten, twelve, or fourteen hour days out of their employees, never realizing they’re not getting their money’s worth for each paid hour. What they should be doing is clearing out a few rooms of desks and computers and installing cots or bunk beds. Employees can eat their peanut butter and jelly, drink their milk, and then zonk out for a quick nap. Once they wake up, their potential will soar. For those of us who work from home—writers, creatives, freelancers building something from nothing—we already have the power to make this choice, and we should be using it without guilt.
When we’re young, however, we believe we’re invincible. After watching my boys grow up, I agree that energy levels seem endless. Yet, naps improve moods, if not theirs than at least mine.
“But Dad,” they would whine, “we’re not tired. Why do we need a nap?”
“Because I need a break.”
Together, quite often we would climb into bed and take a nap. Or rather, I would take a nap. They would wait until they heard me snore, then sneak out to watch television. Like me at their age, they didn’t understand how sweet a nap can be.
They’ll learn, though. One day it just hits. You don’t just want a nap. You need it. And for those of us pouring our imagination into novels, characters, and entire fictional worlds every single day—the need hits harder and sooner. Creative burnout is real, and a nap is one of the gentlest, most effective tools a writer has against it. Rest isn’t the opposite of productivity; for a storyteller, it’s part of the process.
Not me. I’m going to take them now, before it’s too late. I even schedule it into my work day, right there between “finish the chapter” and “don't let the plot fall apart.” As a matter of fact, I’m late for mine now. If I don’t take my nap, I don’t get cookies and milk—and frankly, I don’t get good fiction either. I’ll see you in an hour.