Writing is strange, messy and powerful. It demands patience, confidence, and a bit of madness. Some days, it feels effortless. Other times, it’s like trying to lasso smoke. But there’s one unlikely creature that might just hold the secret to improving your writing skills. The humble chicken. Chickens scratch the ground for hours, preen obsessively and make a whole lot of noise. Writers do similar things. We scavenge for inspiration, obsess over syntax and hope someone hears us. Just like chickens, we need the right conditions to thrive. The writing process is not about instant brilliance. It’s about persistence. Chickens don’t wait for the perfect seed to fall in front of them. They peck, every day. Writers should too. Writers are not superheroes. We don’t magically spill flawless sentences onto the page. Most of us feel self-doubt. We question whether anything we’ve written matters. Some days, it feels like our work disappears into a void. This isn’t failure. It’s part of being a writer. As The Writing Cooperative explains, the process often starts with silence. But silence doesn’t mean nothing is happening. You’re still thinking, still shaping. The work is finding its way. That dreaded wall? It’s not a curse. It’s just fear of getting it wrong. But messy writing is necessary. Author Anne Lamott calls the first draft “the child’s draft” – messy, emotional, full of potential. Chickens don’t apologise for scratching in the dirt. Neither should you. The trick is to write anyway. Even if it’s clunky. Even if you hate it. Chickens graze constantly to lay eggs. Writers need similar nourishment. Except instead of grain, we feed on books, films, conversations and lived experience. Your writing skills improve every time you consume a new idea. Chickens are flock animals. Writers often pretend to be lone wolves. But the truth is, we need community too. Whether it’s a feedback group, a mentor, or a professional letter writing service like LetterLab, good writing often comes from shared insight. Even the best writers have editors. Don’t isolate yourself. Sometimes, writing feels invisible. You send it into the world and hear nothing back. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. Even the words you bury still shape you. Maybe you’re writing letters that never get sent. Journals no one reads. Drafts that sit forgotten in your laptop. These are not wasted. They’re practice. Preparation. Soil where future ideas will grow. Chickens only fly when they have to. Most of the time, they’re just scratching at the ground. Writers are the same. Most of the work is slow and unglamorous. But when something lifts off, it feels like magic. You only get there if you keep going. Being a better writer isn’t about talent. It’s about turning up. It’s about reading widely, writing often, and not being afraid to start again. Like a chicken, you won’t always know where the good stuff is. But if you keep scratching, you’ll find it.