Write Hungry by Mo Fanning

Write Hungry: Why Your Best Words Might Come Before Breakfast

The best time to write might not be when you’re feeling cosy and fed, but when your stomach’s growling and your brain is on the hunt. If you wake feeling like you’d gladly swipe sweets from babies, that might be your brain telling you: now is the time to write.

It may sound like something out of a productivity cult handbook, but trust me—there’s actual science behind it. People who know about this stuff call it “empty stomach intelligence”. When we’re hungry, our bodies produce a hormone called ghrelin. It’s commonly associated with appetite, but ghrelin also plays a surprising role in cognitive function. It heightens focus, improves learning and memory, and can leave us more alert and mentally agile.

In evolutionary terms, it makes perfect sense. A hungry brain is a motivated brain. If our ancestors had sat around foggy-headed and lethargic despite their brontosaurus burger cravings, they’d have missed their chance to hunt, gather, or outrun danger. Ghrelin sharpens the mind, helps us scan for solutions, and pushes us towards action. It’s your brain’s way of saying: Think fast. Get food. Survive.

And for writers… that’s an opportunity.

Write Before Breakfast

I’ve spent years trying to crack the code of a good writing day. I’ve tried everything—lavender-scented candles, web-based Pomodoro timers, Spotify waterfall playlists. But one of the most effective shifts I’ve made recently is: write before breakfast.

Not before coffee—I’m not a maniac—but definitely before food. I set an early alarm, pull on something warm and disreputable, and sit at the keyboard while I’m still a little bit hungry. And it works.

This advice, however, does slightly contradict what we’ve long been told. Mid-century optimist-slash-psychologist Abraham Maslow built a motivational pyramid and convinced managers, teachers, and the more earnest kind of hippie that no one could be creative on an empty stomach. His Hierarchy of Needs insists we must satisfy our most basic physiological requirements—food, water, warmth, rest—before we can do anything clever, like write a sonnet or tackle chapter seven of a novel. Creativity, Maslow tells us, is a self-actualising activity. The top of the pyramid. Dessert, not starter.

Real Life

But real life doesn’t always follow the pyramid. Sometimes the best writing doesn’t come from full-bellied comfort. Sometimes it arrives when you’re edgy, alert, a little bit ravenous—still climbing the pyramid, not lounging at the top. And in those moments, with your stomach muttering and your brain firing up for the day, something clicks. You’re not distracted by indulgence. You’re not lulled into laziness by toast. You’re sharp. You’re ready.

There’s a clarity that takes hold when the world is still busy waking. My thoughts feel sharper, distractions bounce off, and the light-headedness brings a strange kind of honesty to the page. Hunger focuses the mind. I don’t over-edit yesterday’s words. I don’t scroll. I chase ideas.

Caffeine, of course, is one of the writer’s oldest and most loyal allies—but you need to deploy it wisely. If you drink coffee immediately after waking, you might find yourself spiralling into unease. That’s because your body is already swimming in cortisol first thing—a natural stress hormone that helps shake off sleep. Add a double espresso to the mix and you may end up jittery, anxious, or paradoxically unfocused.

A better approach is to wait an hour or so. Let your natural cortisol peak and ease off. Then, when you do sip that cup—slowly, deliberately—it becomes a boost, not a battle. I write for 45 minutes on water alone. Then the caffeine arrives like a reward, smoothing the next stretch rather than hijacking it.

Of course, this isn’t a universal fix. Some people genuinely need breakfast to function—those with blood sugar issues, or who find early mornings repellent. And nobody’s suggesting you starve yourself for the sake of a half-decent haiku. But for many of us, the idea that our creativity might peak before breakfast is worth exploring.

We tend to associate food with fuel. These days I’d never risk driving with an empty tank—but people aren’t machines. Our brains respond to more than calories. In fact, when we eat a heavy meal—especially one loaded with carbs—our bodies divert energy into digestion, leaving us foggy and sluggish. That’s why so many afternoon meetings feel like wading through treacle. There’s a reason your best ideas often arrive just before lunch, not after it.

There’s also a psychological shift at play. Writing before breakfast sends a powerful message to your brain: this matters. It becomes the first thing you do—not squeezed between errands, not tacked on after work, not a reward for productivity. Just a simple, daily promise: I will write before I eat. It’s oddly freeing.

Write Hungry

We live in a world that glorifies ‘busyness’. Writing can feel indulgent, unnecessary, even self-serving—especially to writers themselves. But when you choose to write while hungry, you claim that time for yourself. You put the work ahead of comfort. That shift alone can reframe your whole creative practice.

And there are other perks. Writing first thing means fewer interruptions. No WhatsApps. No headlines. No laundry guilt. Just you and your thoughts. For those of us with jobs, families, or dog walks to juggle, those moments might be the only quiet ones we get.

So what if you tried it, just for a week? Set the alarm 45 minutes earlier. Don’t check your phone. Don’t make toast. Just sit and write—badly, brilliantly, whatever comes out—until it’s time for breakfast. Give your ghrelin a chance to do its thing. Let the caffeine arrive fashionably late.

You might find it makes no difference. You might discover you hate it. But there’s also a chance it changes your rhythm. That it unlocks a voice you’d forgotten. That in the quiet, hungry dark, something in you wakes up and says: Yes. Let’s begin.

(c) Mo Fanning

www.mofanning.co.uk/

About Rainbows and Lollipops by Mo Fanning: