Tag Archives: time management

Finding normal

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Photo by Samuel Regan-Asante on Unsplash

And, just like that, my writing time disappeared. 

Happy Friday, folks, and how are you today? I’m still here, which just about proves that I’ve survived. I have successfully child-wrangled, by which I mean the child in question still lives, and we managed not to freeze on our camping excursion. Now I return home to a period of peace, where I can settle down and really crack on with my writing. 

But wait – what’s this? What light through yonder inbox breaks? Oh. A new editorial job. By which I mean yay! A new editorial job! 

I love editing. It’s a great way of earning some extra pennies, whilst also keeping up with new words, worlds and releases. I am keen to expand that aspect of my life and am constantly thinking I should cold-call (email) some more publishers to see if there ain’t any more work I could scrounge. 

But it is a time-sink. And that time is my original-creation time. So I bumble along, not really committing to either camp, chipping away with little pieces of work here and there, taking what chances I can get. It’s my great dilemma. Editing is fun, interesting, and produces money. Writing is hard work, tiring and there is no prospect of publication, no prospect of material reward. Which would you choose? 

What can I sacrifice in order to do both? Not family time, nor domestic-chore time (on which I spend precious little enough as it is). My paid employment as a library assistant? That can’t go, not unless I get a regular alternative income – freelancing is too erratic to rely on and, as I said, creative writing produces nothing. 

Photo by Nick Morrison on Unsplash

So the only thing left is that evening time between the kids’ bedtime and mine. Which is my precious time, when I play games, relax, and chat online. Could I give that up? It feels like a big sacrifice. And even if I decide it has to go, it doesn’t seem like a very productive setup: I have trained myself to work in the daytime – preferably mornings but I’ve had to spread into the afternoons too. 

It is a problem. 

I had hoped that, after the horrors of school holidays, September would see a new period of placid productivity. But it has been a fairly horrible start to the month in terms of goings on. I mean, a lot of fun has been had – the times have hardly been slog, toil and tears – but I have not yet found my normal. 

A good few years ago now I wrote a blog post detailing my weekly life and how I found time to write. Things have changed so much since then. Different house, different job, extra child. Things will, I know, get better – just one solid week of absolutely nothing happening will change my whole perspective. 

It’ll also change when I finally get down to writing my sekrit projeckt. I am still in the phase of notating notes and gathering ideas, all of which are currently contained upon a single scratty piece of paper – and, of course, come together only in my head. I am not ready to commit to actual prose just yet. 

A lot of these things are attitude dependent. I am rich in the currency of having things on my plate, and that’s wonderful – I am not procrastinating or hiding, I am getting up and doing. I’m just not necessarily doing what I need to be doing. There is, as ever, a mismatch between ‘need’ and ‘want’. 

I just wish this ‘normality’ thing would reassert itself soon. 

The job before us

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Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

First of all, let me apologise for the lack of blog last week. This is the first time I’ve missed an entry in about eight years, and that alone should tell you about the week that was. A combination of deadlines and germs left me unable to even conceive of writing for myself, and even for you lot, central though you all are to my existence.  

The deadlines are, now, out of the way – one met, one not-quite-so-but-hopefully-good-enough-with-appropriate-grovelling – and I shall receive, in time, my reward. Now I am left to my own devices once more – at least until the next job saunters in* – and it’s back to the editing of my own work.  

When we last met I was slowly working my way through Our Kind of Bastard whilst awaiting the first ever beta-reading of Breathing Fire. And nothing, you will be unsurprised to hear, has changed – except that I have now received feedback on BF and must act upon it. First, however, I need to pluck up the courage to open the email. That can safely be put off for a few weeks, right?  

Photo by Stéphan Valentin on Unsplash

It’s not ideal, writing in little isolated chunks. Long gaps in between can confuse and lead to disjointed thinking, as well as risking the risk of repetitions sneaking through. Long-time blog-readers may remember that I was forced to start and abandon one draft of OKoB about three times, simply because every time I’d get so far before being interrupted, losing my thread and all bad things.  

But we can only work with the tools we are given, and time is perhaps the hardest tool of all to utilise. Onwards, I cry, and dry and dredge up the hastily-parked memories of where I got to and what the hell was going on.  

After that, well, I’m going to have to look at Breathing Fire, aren’t I? Perhaps I should just have a sneak peek into that email after all… but no. No good can come of that.  

And after that… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. After that is after. First comes the job before us.

*Another job has, indeed, just sauntered in; a request for feedback from a member of my manuscript exchange group. Unpaid, but my moral standing demands the job be done for I must be a giver as well as a taker. ‘S how the world works, right?

Forces of the clock

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Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Writing, it seems, is an endless battle with the forces of the clock. Or at least it is at the moment.  

I have a part-time day job, and once upon a time that meant I had all the time I needed to create wonderful worlds of fiction. I would get up at a relatively civilised hour, break the old fast, and then write for an hour or so before I had to dash off to catch the bus to work.*  

Then I had a kid and moved job (and county) and still I found time, with the occasional break for commercial editing, to create. However, I have made the catastrophic mistake not only to have another child but to allow myself to become inexplicably popular with my editees.  

Thus actually getting time to do some honest-to-goodness writing and/or editing of my own work has become more and more of a challenge. Since Christmas I have had commercial editing jobs back-to-back, which is wonderful. But it has proved something of a challenge. My own writing has had to take a seat so far to the back that it can barely be seen in the rear-view mirror – though it is, like my flesh-and-blood children – constantly on my mind.  

All this is an elaborate way of saying that, once again, I have done sod all of interest this week.  

Photo by Valerie Lendel on Unsplash

That’s not true, of course. Editing is endlessly rewarding and instructive and fascinating – great stories being deconstructed and put back together, sometimes like a machine, othertimes as a puzzle; the one I’m working on at the moment is very much the latter, as I struggle on each page, it seems, to work out what is a bug and what is a feature.  

This should all go into the big melting pot that is my brain and hopefully will make me a stronger writer long-term.  

But it’s also frustrating. I have so much to do. My work awaits; my novels are screaming for attention. I know exactly what I have to do, but the further I edge from recency, the more chance of me losing my thread and having to start the edit of Our Kind of Bastard from scratch – for the third bloomin’ time.  

There are worse problems to have. I am grumbling because of my modest successes, today, rather than from my many failures, and the view’s not so bad from up here.  

But I’m going to have to change something. My emotional priority – as opposed to my financial priority, as original writing is unlikely to ever pay so well as editing other people’s work – is my own writing. I’m still determined to make a career as a novelist.  

But right now? Well I’m sneakily writing this at my day job because I’m too pushed with editorial deadlines (and sick children**) to do it at home. Don’t tell my boss. And then the rest of the week will be taken up with aforementioned deadlines.  

Next week. Next week I might finally get to do something of my own.

*Only possible because I had, and indeed have, a spouse who earns better money than me. Consider my privileges counted

**Mystery viruses (virii?). They’ll be fine

Out of time

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There is a major life event approaching, and I’m not just talking about the climax to Breathing Fire. I don’t want to say too much about it right now, but I was desperately hoping to be able to get the novel done before the onset of Doom. Or at least in the post-Doom aftermath. Seems like that’s not going to happen now.

Another paying job has arrived, which is great because a) money, b) I generally enjoy my editorial work, and c) it’s always nice to be wanted. Never take me seriously when I grumble about having too much on my plate. I do enjoy it, and I’m proud of having built up a little sideline, even to the point of being a go-to guy for a major(ish) publishing company, that keeps my head about financial waters and keeps me out of mischief.

But I am sick of not having finished my novel yet. I started it in April 2021 (if not before; this blog is woefully short on actual facts), and that was based on a dream I had in the summer of 2020 (I think). This has been the longest I’ve ever spent on a draft and that’s mostly because I’ve had to spend so much time on Other Things. Some of these are worthwhile (publishing New Gods, for example). Others… well, others have been necessary.

I am frustrated. Especially since this latest interruption comes as I feel like I was just – finally! – getting to grips with what I was attempting to do. I am climaxing, and enjoying the blocking out of action, the collapsing of phase space, and the culmination of what I’ve spent the last year building up to.

There was even a moment of fire-breathing in a novel called Breathing Fire. Only took 60k words to get there.

But there’s no point in complaining. Ain’t nobody going to care. Ain’t nobody going come take my burdens off me. I could have turned down the work; really it’s nobody’s fault but mine.

So all I can do is get on with the work. And, in the back of my mind, I’ve always got the fact that I have a trilogy (almost) written but nothing to do with it. No publisher, no agent, no way of getting it out to the great and the good. Ambition aplenty; at present no hope.

So I guess it really doesn’t matter whether I complete Breathing Fire tomorrow or a decade hence. ‘S gonna be done because I have a story to tell. How to get it to you? That’s another problem entirely.

En avant!

Priorities

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Another day, another excuse. This time it’s a combination of Easter holidays and the Sickness of the Child that have arisen together to thwart my plans. The latter, at least, is over now; she’s back fighting fit. But my plans to switch between original writing and deadline-fuelled editation have come to naught. I have done neither and, as time roars on, I must prioritise accordingly.

So what does this mean? Well, apart from a general cursing of the universe and everything in it, it means that Breathing Fire takes a back seat once more. It means that I’ll probably not be able to finish the beta-reading I was undertaking for a friend in time to give useful feedback. It means that I must enter my Zen-space once more and compose myself before showing my face to the public.

It is life. If you’re a writer and you’re not yet fortunate enough to be able to earn a living from writing – or be supported by a rich patron/lover – the chances are that you have another job, or at least a sideline in applying for jobs/making excuses to the job centre. You are going to have days like this. You are going to be disrupted. You are going to be disturbed just as you were picking up the threads from the last disruption, just as you were picking up speed and starting to find your feet in the flow.

It’s easy to curse life, to lament the failures of society that doesn’t afford the creatives the resources they need to create. And it’s not wrong to so do; a lot of systems are seriously weighted not in our favour. But, whilst we labour in imperfection, the important thing is picking up the slack once more.

Which is why I’m writing this now. Truth is that, after a barren period without taking up my keyboard in anger for over a week, I don’t really have that much to say. But I’m making myself work. I’m making the words appear on the screen not because I’m inspired but because I have to do this.

Quitting is the easy option – and it’s probably sometimes the right one. But I’m determined to get Breathing Fire finished, and that means working past all these interruptions.

But first come the deadlines. Which is why, when I add the final full stop to this, it’ll be my editing that I fire up and not, as I might choose (maybe not; editing is, for me at least, the easier option) the first drafting.

Priorities. I am a writer, thus I will write, right? But I know that all the stitches I’m dropping can be picked up again, not least in the editing. Family comes first, then paid employment, then other commitments, and only after that can I have the freedom to work on what I want to work on.

It is sub-optimal, but it is life.

Efficiency is overrated anyway.

Time makes fools

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‘Time makes fools of us all…’; photograph by Thordi

Time makes fools of us all. And time is very much on my mind at the moment, as mine has suddenly become a premium commodity.

Yes, I have just started a new phase in my life of paid employment. Or, to put it another way, I’ve got a new job. This is for reasons which are sound and very much justified and, indeed, employment will hopefully be pleasurable. I’ll be working with books and with readers, and that can never be a bad combination.

But it means I’ll have less time for writing, for editing, and for managing life beyond the paying of the bills. This causes me a certain amount of anxiety. I have commitments, the ones to myself not the least amongst them. I want to write and to edit and spend time on Twitter; I want to communicate, in one medium or another and my new life status threatens that.

So what will I do? Well, I’ll take around a fortnight to stress and then I’ll settle and work out new working arrangements. Because that’s what we do when life changes; for a while the shift seems all-consuming and we don’t quite know where the time is going. Then we settle down and what’s important to us will reassert itself.

So at the moment I am all of a quiver: I have a new editorial job upcoming and I fear for when it’ll get done. I have a short story to tinker with and a whole damn novel to edit. When will I find the time for these things?

The answer will come. Things will settle and new working patterns will develop – hell, with a different type of stimulation I’ll almost certainly write better for it. I will work out all the answers because I have to.

But for now I am all of an anxiety; and it’s not just the new job fears.

My writing week

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The plan, this week, is to present you with my diary and explain how I make time for writing and important things like that. It is somewhat of a gamble. So much of this human interest stuff I imagine many of you find deadly boring. I also worry it’ll come across as a bit of a sneak-grumble when that’s really not the intention.

See, I really only have time for writing two, maybe two and a bit, days a week. The rest of the time is taken up with the dust and detritus of modern life. But before I get ahead of myself, here’s my guide to burgling my house how my typical week works:

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Monday

Chiildcare. Until recently the grandparents took the little one in the mornings so I had that as writing time too. I’ve lost that recently, and so it’s off to Mucky Pups and singing with the folk in the care home with me of a morning and watching Monsters Inc in the afternoon.

Tuesday

A writing day! The little one is in nursery, so after dropping her off I get to sit down, purge my emails and draft my blog (I write these words at Tuesday 09:22). Unfortunately, I have a regular medical appointment that takes two hours out of my day. I also have to do household jobs like the laundry, making dinner and taking the rubbish out, so it’s not just free and easy time for me.

Then it’s time to collect the monster from nursery, and one weekend in two I have Paid Employment in the evening.

Wednesday

I have Sproutface in the morning; it’s off to Busytots with us, then the playground. My wife works from home in the afternoons so sometimes I manage to squeeze in another hour or so of writing before it’s off to Paid Employment.

Thursday

Another writing day, this time free of interruptions… sometimes. As I have commitments on other days, Thursday is my Random Appointment Day, so my time is often thieved by the magpies of modern life. C’est, as they say, la vie.

old-calendar-jim-love

It’s worth saying that my ‘writing days’ (typically around 09:00 to 15:30) are also when I spend time on social media. I live a fairly isolated life, so Twitter especially is a way of keeping in touch with my interfriends. I’ve some strong attachments to people I’ve met only virtually and this connection is important to me.

It’s also important to point out that a writing day is not merely about getting words down and creating new stories. It’s also editing time, both on my work and other people’s. I work as a proofreader and copy-editor and in truth could use more gigs – but when I do get a job the deadlines are usually tight. It has to slide right in to whatever time I have and so my own work is set to the back-burner. This can be frustrating but I do enjoy editing. It’s a different discipline to writing and is, frankly, easier than first-drafting.

Friday

Another Sprout-filled day with Shake, Rattle and Roll, then swimming, then more Monsters Inc before I pick up the wife and she takes over the childcare whilst I do Paid Employment.

Saturday and Sunday

Saturday mornings I work one in two; otherwise the weekend is Family Time for doing Family Things like going to National Trust places, looking at houses (we’re trying to move) or going to garden centres. Time away from the computer and with the ones I love, in other words.

Not that I don’t love you too. You’re fantastic in your own special way.

 

And that’s it. That’s how my week works – and it’s a reminder to myself that I’m really lucky. I don’t have a full-time job; I’m supported by an amazing wife who works so I don’t have to (not entirely true; she enjoys her work and has a career of her own. But I know she’d like to spend more time with the little one). We can afford to send Sproutface to nursery so I have a few days a week to do my thing. I am really very lucky indeed.

But I also work hard. I’m determined to make the most of the little free time I have – though I find it difficult, sometimes, to not procrastinate and difficult, sometimes, to keep a proper focus on what I should be doing – still I sit at my desk whenever I can and try and get through whatever I’m working on.

Could I do more? Well, maybe I could set aside time at night, when the rest of the family is in bed, to scribble a few more words. Maybe I could get up early and join the Stupid O’Clock Writers’ Group and try and get some words down that way.

But I need free time, rest time, too. I’ve never claimed to be the most motivated person in the world. I’m just trying my best after my own fashion.

 

I hope this has given you some insight into my life and the way I work and it hasn’t been too self-absorbed or just plain dull. I’m always shy of writing too much about me personally as I’m sceptical as to how much anyone actually cares. Who am I? I’m no-one.

But if there’s anything you’d like me to talk about then please do let me know, either via Twitter or in the comments below. Requests always welcome.

Peace out.

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Becoming Rimmer

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time-painting-fresh-45-best-images-about-surreal-time-art-on-pinterest-of-time-painting

The signature is of CristoF, but who they are defeats my Google skills

Things to say to a freelancer: “Here’s some more work! We’ll pay you…”

Things not to say to a freelancer: “…but the deadline’s shorter than the other piece you’re working on.”

Fresh after last week’s blog-post about the importance of keeping balance in work, all my plans are now somewhat askew. I’m not after your pity; it’s a great thing, to have work lined up for the rest of the month and possibly beyond. And I get to copy-edit the sequel to a book I read (and paid for) a few months ago, so woo!

But I am at a point where I must, must, must keep on with my own work whilst I’m trying to earn money. It would be too easy to push the creative work to one side: “oh, it can wait another month.” Of course it can. But, come February, what’s to stop the same thing from happening again?

time_management

stolen from xkcd

No, for the first time in my life ever (save maybe in essay-writing season at university, though I seem to remember I was rubbish at it then), I feel I have to sit down with a calendar and devise a proper work schedule. And this sucks. It’s always seemed to me like the old Arnold Rimmer problem of spending all the time on the plan and not the work.

But I must protect my writing. And family time. And give myself sanity-breaks.

Otherwise I’m not a writer at all. I’m this guy:

rimmer