time management

A friend of mine has a peculiar death fantasy. Whenever we discuss our mortality (more often than is healthy, probably), he insists that when the doctors tell him that he’s got X months to live he’ll sell the house, liquidate his savings, and head to Las Vegas so he can spend what time he has left living the high life, and hopefully keel over with a Scotch in one hand and a steak dinner in front of him.

I always politely point out the obvious flaw in this thinking: What if you, you know, don’t get the warning? What if a piano falls on you, or your doctor says you have X days left instead of months? And he has no answer. I try to urge him to live a little bit right now. Maybe don’t sell the house, but maybe take a vacation to Vegas and have that steak sooner rather than later.

The same goes for writing. We all have other things going on. We have Day Jobs and families and chores and leaking roofs and broken transmissions and sick kids and such. It’s easy to imagine that someday you will finally sit down and start writing that book that’s been nudging you in the brain for the last few weeks, months, years, decades.

The fact is, there’s no perfect time, no ideal moment. Start writing today, because, yep, a piano might fall on you tomorrow.

That Means You

This isn’t advice that only applies to aspiring writers or newcomers to the peculiar hell called Being a Writer. This goes for all of us. We all have projects we’ve put off—because it’s too complex or time-consuming, because we have to write for a living today, because we’re not sure we can pull it off artistically. And we all have to remind ourselves of the piano hovering over us, suspended by a thin wire, that could drop at any time.

Certain activities always seem pointlessly risky to me. I always say that I don’t want my last words to ever be Why did I do this? I don’t want my last words to be, why did I agree to skydive? Or, why did I agree to ride this insane rollercoaster? You can’t avoid death forever, but I never want my final thoughts to be all-consuming regret because I chose to do something that was obviously potentially deadly.

In the same vein, I don’t want to think gosh, I should have written that novel about cats where the cats are secretly angels trying to stop the apocalypse but their owners won’t let them out of the house. I may not finish every idea I have, but I’m going to fucking die trying. And so should you.

Writing a novel (or, sometimes, even a short story) often requires a lot of work that isn’t writing. This could be research, or world-building no one will ever see, or getting your workspace set up in a way that’s conducive to your style. It might mean taking some time off and renting a yurt or something so you can dedicate yourself to the work. Or it might mean reading a ton of books in the same genre or category so you can get a feel for what’s current, what’s common, and what’s overdone.

All of that sort of work is sometimes necessary, but it can also become Busywork, and thus a way to feel like you’re accomplishing something without actually writing anything.

Writing Feng Shui

There’s an old cliché of someone procrastinating by obsessing over their workspace. They’ll get started on this novel as soon as they get the desk set up exactly the way they want, or as soon as they have perfect quiet, or as soon as they figure out the perfect word processing software that is ideal for their work style. They spend weeks ordering gadgets and arranging the furniture in their home office but never actually write anything.

That’s an obvious delaying tactic, but there are other ways of putting off the inevitable moment when you have to type CHAPTER ONE and begin the process of turning your ideas into a coherent narrative. This can come in the form of endless research, one source of info always leading to another, ad infinitum forever and ever world without end. Or it could mean working on minute details of your world-building backstory. Maybe you spend six months creating a language for your tribe of half-elk, half-men. Or maybe you spend a year sketching the coat of arms for every prominent family in your fictional city.

This stuff is fun, and it might serve a very good purpose for your creative process. But it can—not necessarily will, but can—also become a way of feeling like you’re doing good writing without actually, you know, writing anything.

Finding that balance can be challenging, but a good rule of thumb is simple: Did you actually write anything today? Then you’re not writing, no matter how much work you put into everything else.

One note: Drinking is never busywork and is always necessary to the creative process. And I will fight anyone who says otherwise <tears off shirt, screams>.

The other day I went to the grocery store with a short list of items on a list, one of which was a certain kind of popcorn my wife, The Duchess, likes. In the popcorn aisle, however, there was confusion and despair, because I couldn’t tell which one of the several dozen varieties of popcorn my wife intended, so I took a photo of the choices and sent it to The Duchess, then called her as I moved on to gather the other items on my list. We chatted about all things popcorn while I shopped, she clarified her request, we hung up, and then I checked out without actually going back to buy the popcorn. I simply forgot all about it.

Routine is my friend largely because my memory has always been epically poor; I forget things within moments. If this were a new development in my dotage I’d be worried, but the fact is I’ve always been this way. I can forget things at a worrying pace. There’s a weird moment I’m aware of when thinking about something somehow clicks over to having done it in my brain. Like the popcorn: I thought about buying it, and therefore my brain reported it as having been bought.

As a result, I like a good rut. Putting things in exactly the same place and doing things in exactly the same way day in and day out helps me to remember things like my wallet, keys, and phone, and a routine helps me to always go to the places I need to be. Yes, I’m like a brain-damaged puppy, what of it?

This extends to my writing; I like a good rut because it means I will always find time to write. If I wing my schedule, writing often disappears because I simply run out of time. And I like to approach writing ritualistically because doing it the same way every day helps ensure I actually, you know, write. Without a routine and a rut, I’d be lost.

But sometimes, you have to break out of your rut.

Seeing the Rut

Ruts and routines are useful for getting work done, but not always useful for inspiration and creativity. Finding the balance between a routine that allows you have time to write and get words on the page and a sense of adventure that allows you to, you know, be creative and produce good work is always going to be a challenge.

One thing I try to do is to simply swap some time. For example, normally I work on freelance pay-the-bills writing in the morning and get to fiction in the afternoon, because I like to feel like I’ve paid some bills before I have fun. But sometimes it’s useful to push the freelance work and put some time into a novel in the morning. It feels like a fresh field of snow to write at a different time of day, and it tricks your brain into seeing things fresh.

Of course, even a new routine will slowly lose its freshness and become a new rut. You have to surprise yourself on a constant basis. And when in doubt, just start day-drinking. Any writing you do while drunk will be crap, but believe me, nothing blows up your routines like having a killer hangover at 3PM.

One of the most common complaints writers have is pretty universal: A lack of time. We’ve all been there. You have a job, a family, other responsibilities. Finding time to write isn’t just difficult, it can often be impossible, at least if you’re set in your ways. And it’s easy to resent the fact that you’re forced to donate the best hours of your day to an employer or other entity, and the only time you find to write is when you’re exhausted.

We’ve all been there. Well, I supposed there are some writers who were born into money and thus were never there. And some writers who sold their first manuscript at a young age for tons of cash, and so were able to curate their special writing place in their tastefully decorated apartment. For most of us, however, time and energy for writing can be in short supply.

You can, however, game the system a little if you work to be ready to write under just about any conditions.

All About the Implements

What do you write with? A laptop? Pen and paper? An old manual typewriter? A calligraphy pen and homemade paper? Blood and a quill?

Whatever it is, chances are you have become quite attached to both the implements you use and the specific conditions required for your creativity to flow. And if you’re having trouble finding the time and energy to write, you need to get over that shit pretty quickly and train yourself to be a writing ninja who is capable of writing under any condition. During a blackout, on the subway? Writing. On a plane for the next fifteen hours after eating bad sushi? Writing (also: vomiting). At work? Class? Your own wedding reception? Writing.

You see, there’s a lot of time in your day you’re not using. As an experiment, try to be conscious of how often during your typical day you’re just staring off into space. It’s a lot, most probably. And usually it’s for very good reason—when you’re crushed by a wall of humanity on the subway, for example, it’s not easy to do much else. But these are the moments you’re going to have to mine for the time to write your fiction.

To do that, you need to be flexible, and be ready to work on a variety of devices. A laptop or Chromebook or tablet are fine tools, but there will be moments when you won’t have two hands to write with, or a table or lap. Or electricity. Or space. Being ready to write anywhere, under any conditions means having a range of implements, from cloud-based electronic devices to old-fashioned pen and paper. And it means being ready write at a moment’s notice, whenever you find yourself with a few minutes to work with.

Is it ideal? No. But you’ll be surprised to discover just how much time you can claw back from your day. Pro tip: You can also use a similar approach to increase the amount of drinking time you get every day. Thought this is somewhat less accepted by society.