People often ask me how I manage to get so much done, how I can be so prolific. So by way of introduction, I thought I’d give a slice-by-slice pen-portrait of my day’s activities, which are as representative and unrepresentative as any writer’s.
I had a 9:30 meeting at a coffee shop with a colleague to plan the next 12-18 months of activities in the writing program I direct, so of course I got there 45 minutes early and wrestled with a chapter of First Time Publisher, due to be published on or around January 1, 2015.
Meeting over, I went off for a haircut, taking my laptop as always so I could work on something while I waited. A great advantage of coming of age in the Seventies is that I don’t regard haircuts as a necessity, but today’s came with an unexpected bonus or two. My cutter Piero told me he was interested in commissioning an Endangered Alphabets carving for his home. I was delighted, of course, but then he went on to introduce me to the owner of the salon, a great wood lover, who may want me to make some pieces for his salons, and even display some of my work in the window for sale. Haircuts don’t get any better.
Back at home, I got an email containing a sound file, from a singer whom I’m going to be accompanying on guitar at a wedding in early August. Spent a few minutes playing along with it, rearranging my arrangement.
Being English, it was then time for a cup of tea and a biscuit. Exchanged emails with advanced students of mine who are cutting their editing teeth by reading and commenting on the manuscript of The Ghosts of Good Intentions, which I’m hoping to have out in December.
Right now, though, my favorite way of spending time is carving. As the heavy rain started outside–I love the sound of rain–I finished carving and painting the classical Vietnamese character for “sleep,” which will be the center panel for a headboard I’m co-designing with local woodworker Tim Peters as the next item in my line of Endangered Alphabets furniture. Photo available on request.
More tea, of course, then time to update some social media and advise a graduate from my program who has just self-published her first novel. And then, of course, to write this post.
To go back to the original question, then, I’d make four points.
One: nothing spurs productivity like desperation. Having spent formative years as a daily journalist, I got accustomed to working fast because I had to.
Two: I have time because I don’t watch TV. True, I’m a Sherlock fan, but I watch it on Netflix at my convenience and without commercials. TV not only rots your character, it also steals your life.
Three: I’m a great believer in the proposition that everyone has a mind whose mansion has many rooms. It’s not only hard to work on any one thing for more than 45 minutes, it’s unnatural. Do one activity until you lose interest, then do something else. Stay fresh.
Four: the life is the work, and the work is the life. My carving constantly enlarges my horizons and gives material for the next edition of my Endangered Alphabets book; writing the book generates a source of income but also makes me a more interesting person. Likewise, playing the guitar led to my writing Guitar: An American Life, which in turn introduced me to a lot more music, musicians, and opportunities to play.
The upshot is that I don’t see myself as productive or prolific–I see myself as never bored.
Just as well. I hate boredom more than anything.
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Actually, I write best when the TV is on in the background! Not normal TV but usually an excellent movie I’ve seen 700 times is ESSENTIAL to my brain being able to focus on pumping out words!
To each their own 😉
I wonder if it also has something to do with what we’re writing, and what demands it places on our thinking at the time?
Oh my! Implying that writing about chronic illnesses isn’t as taxing as writing about…whatever a Brit might choose?
Perhaps it’s just that some people’s minds work differently in different environments. I grew up in a busy, noisy household. Working in the peace and quiet is unnerving and distracting. I prefer familiar noise — such as a film I’ve seen 700 times — whether I’m writing the next War & Peace or a simple blog.
Regardless, to each their own.
Ouch! That’s not what I meant at all! Pretty much the opposite, actually! Your comment about background TV set me thinking about what goes on in our minds when we’re writing. At the moment, in fact, what I’m writing for First Time Author and First Time Publisher is only taxing in a very limited and specific way: I pretty much understand my material already, and it’s just a question of organizing the thoughts and making the language clear. Your comment made me stop and think that having a familiar film on in the background probably wouldn’t interfere all that much. And when it’s all said and done, I won’t think of what I’ve written as especially good writing, because it’s a fairly mechanical process. (And for the same reason, it’s not all that enjoyable.) At other times, I’m still struggling to understand or explore what I’m thinking even while I’m writing, and if things are going well, the mind makes all kinds of unexpected leaps into new ideas or new metaphors, or whatever. That’s much more taxing, to use youyr word, but it’s the taxation that makes it interesting and worthwhile. Yet under those circumstances I can’t stand any background noise–no, that’s not true. I can’t stand any background noise that includes words. Music doesn’t grab at my attention in the same way as words do. So what I meant by “what we’re writing, and what demands it places on our thinking at the time” was just me musing out loud at the strange process, or processes, that result in the composition of words and phrases. And as you say, it may have much more to do with attention–what catches our attention, or what we come to think of as normal background hum–than anything else.
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