Introduction

When I read this month’s Emacs Carnival theme, the metaphor emerged immediately: rural life, which I’m immersed in lately, reflects exactly my work with Emacs.

I spend most of my working time inside Emacs. It’s my editor, my writing studio, my agenda, and sometimes my terminal. For years I searched for the perfect init: that platonic configuration that solves everything. Now I understand that true progress doesn’t come from grand redesigns, but from continuous maintenance. Like in a vegetable garden: plowing, clearing, watering, pruning. Preparing the ground so the harvest—useful notes, clear texts, finished projects—arrives without friction.

From Obsession to Care

The obsession with the init gave me knowledge, but also instability. Every week I tried one more package, changed themes, redefined shortcuts. Lots of shine, little fertile soil. The transition has consisted of accepting a simple rule: small, reversible, and motivated changes.

  • If an annoyance appears twice, it deserves an adjustment.
  • If not, I write it down and move on.

Emacs is no longer a perpetual mockup: it’s a workshop in progress.

My Emacs Writing Studio

My real change began when I discovered Peter Prevos’s Emacs Writing Studio. It’s a coherent set of views, templates, and workflows specifically designed for writing. I adopted it as a base and since then I’ve been growing on top of it, adapting it to my needs:

  • Clean environment: fixed column width, readable font, no distractions.
  • Capture templates: one for lightning ideas, another for article outlines, another for bibliography. Capture first; organize later.
  • Project notes: a panel that reflects the status of projects and the information needed to maintain them.
  • Process checklists: for example for publishing, link verification, metadata, export…

None of this was born from pure theory; the Emacs Writing Studio gave me the initial structure, and on top of it I build by removing stones from the path to write more and better.

Why Maintenance Really Matters (A Lot)

My note system is based on org-mode, a proven tool but one that can generate a lot of noise. Fortunately, on top of that base is Denote, Protesilaos Stavrou’s tool that allows me to organize—ideas, readings, scripts, links, code—which constantly grows and can become opaque without attention.

Discoverability

Denote establishes a formal naming rule: temporal identifier, keywords separated by double hyphens, and extension. This, along with useful tags and cross-links when they provide context, makes finding predictable. Personal rule: if it takes me >15 seconds to find a key note, it’s time to clear brush.

Coherence

I try to minimize doubt when naming my files, so I make sure the type of note and status, if applicable, are always clear. My mantra: Less doubt, more flow.

Confidence

Knowing that I can undo in seconds (history) and that the structure holds. Writing and reorganizing without fear.

My Maintenance Routines

Maintenance allows me to keep alive discoverability, coherence, and confidence:

  • Version everything with Git: small commits, clear messages. History is my safety net.
  • Modular init: the main file only loads modules (UI, writing, navigation, org, languages). I locate problems and touch without breaking everything.
  • Pruning sessions: 30-minute blocks weekly without creating anything new. Just moving, merging, tagging, and archiving.
  • Friction review: I keep a “friction bin” file. When one repeats, I schedule a specific adjustment.
  • Eshell and minimal utilities: if I jump to the terminal for the same thing every day, I bring it to Emacs with a short function.

Maintenance Leads Me to Elisp (and to Love for Emacs)

I don’t learn Emacs Lisp out of ambition, but out of necessity. First came macros and copied snippets; now I write small functions with clear purpose: batch renaming, inserting headers, generating indexes, transforming selections, preparing templates.

Three Practices That Work for Me

  1. One function, one purpose: I avoid “Swiss army knives”. I prefer three small and clear tools.
  2. Expressive naming and docstrings: write the purpose in the name and an example in the documentation. So my future self understands it.
  3. Safe iteration: test in scratch buffers, validate with minimal cases, commit, and continue.

The side effect: the more I maintain, the more I understand. And the more I understand, the more I appreciate Emacs as a moldable tool.

Signs That the Ground Needs Care

  • I doubt where to capture a new note.
  • I repeat manual tasks several times a week.
  • I don’t remember a shortcut because it doesn’t make sense or isn’t frequent.
  • Exports always require the same manual fix.
  • Searches take time or return noise.

When a sign appears, I schedule a small block and treat it as a maintenance task, not a creation task. The mental separation matters: today I’m not writing, today I’m preparing the soil.

Results I Can Measure

  • More writing, less configuration: creative energy doesn’t leak into tweaks.
  • Notes with returns: I return to old materials and they continue to explain themselves.
  • Less technical anxiety: rollback and modularity reduce the fear of breaking things.
  • Continuous Elisp learning: small functions that add up and stay.
  • A more personal Emacs: not because of rarity, but because it reflects my processes and priorities.

Harvest and Continuity

Maintaining is not postponing; it’s making space for important work to happen.

  • On the server: patches and backups.
  • In the house: order and cleanliness.
  • In the garden: water and pruning.
  • In Emacs: convention, modularity, review, and small functions.

When I honor these tasks, the harvest arrives: finished texts, notes that guide decisions, projects that move forward.

I leave behind the pursuit of the perfect init and adopt a humble discipline: preparing the ground each week. My writing studio in Emacs is more serene, my notes yield more, and my relationship with Elisp becomes close and practical. There’s no magic: just care. As in the field, abundance doesn’t come from the whim of the climate, but from patient work that isn’t seen. Maintenance is that: the art of making the harvest possible.