One Writer's Guide to Getting Stuff Done

As my friend, you'll be happy, I'm sure, to know that I am completely up to date on my e-mail. (And my paper mail, since you're interested.) I've also scrolled back several days in my Facebook feed, so if your kid(s) did anything cute since Independence Day, I have liked,  grinned, "awww-ed" and/ or chortled appropriately. Did you post a picture of yourself at the shore-- any shore? Or up in the cool, pine-topped mountains? I have jealously regarded your happy circumstances, hit the like button, hiked the speed on the ceiling fan, and cursed this time that I am consigned to wander in the Phoenix desert metro area. 

I've also binge-read every blog I was ever vaguely interested in, applied for two jobs, cleaned the kitchen, swept the floor, and made a master shopping list for a future week's worth of meals planned to cook on some future Sunday, probably when I am also supposed to be writing.

Because this is the key to high productivity folks:  you can do everything and anything you've never gotten around to doing, if only you have a project that you are supposed to finish. Today. 

Just to avoid writing, an activity I am ostensibly supposed to enjoy enough to consider it a "passion," I have gone so far as to page back through several weeks of to-do lists to see if there was anything that "fell between the cracks." Believe me, I found plenty. 

Though it's usually writing that is the catalyst for a whirlwind of unnecessary activities, I've also successfully put off lots of other creative projects until the very last minute, simply by doing a bunch of other things instead. I am a pro at this, after all these years, so I've also been able to avoid other unpleasant tasks, like balancing my checking account (it's been so long, do people even do that any more?), filling out required forms, doing my taxes... You name it, if it had to be completed by a certain time, I've avoided it.

Today, I was seconds away from cleaning the bathrooms, already clean by our household standards, when I realized that, dammit,  I needed to stop procrastinating and sit down at the computer.  Then I promptly re-checked my e-mail, my bank balance, and Facebook and, just for good measure,  played eight rip-roaring games of computer solitaire, followed by countless rounds of that weirdly addictive gem smashing game in which my fantasy coin count now measures in the mid seven figures.

I finally opened the document files that held my writing. Then rechecked e-mail. Scrolled through what I wrote the last time I could glue my ass to the chair and my attention to my work at the same time. Then someone needed a snack. One of my children, actually, not just me, but some fuel wouldn't hurt, right? 

Back in the chair. Back to the file. E-mail. Word document. Here we go.  I typed two whole sentences, but suddenly needed to check a fact on the internet-- and you know what a rabbit hole that is. Somehow, I found myself on decorating sites-- how to stunningly upgrade your smallish rental apartment has, like, a million possible links. For some reason I found myself thinking I should clean the bathrooms again. 

But I remained steadfast. You are supposed to be writing, I told myself. Pretty sternly, but not so as to lower my self-esteem or anything. Geez.  Then I'd never sit down and write again.

Then I decided to write this post.  The question before me now: is this writing, or procrastinating?  Or some odd fusion: "procrasti-writing?" 

I think I need to get myself a snack while I think about that. I should get the kids something to munch on too. My real job is being a mom, after all.

And then I might clean the bathrooms, but I will definitely check my e-mail again first. 

The New Internet Diet

I was very happy to have spent last month posting every day on the blog, for the reasons I've already mentioned.  There was, however, one issue that detracted from the overall personal success.  I had to be at the computer for some part of every day.  And even though the NaBloPoMo was taken up to help me build writing habits, it did nothing to improve my Internet gluttony and the Internet meandering that comes with it. 

During the summer, I decided to try to spend one day, usually Sunday, without using the computer at all.  I picked Sunday, not for the holy, "Sabbathy" connotations, but because it is a day there is no business to do that can't wait until Monday.  I was doing pretty well too, because not doing something seems easier than actually doing anything.  I read the Sunday paper to get information, but never sat down at the computer all day. And it was good. I started the Internet fasting idea after realizing that I spend a lot of time just noodling around on the net, and even though I find really interesting things to read and look at and cook and try to DIY and put on the blog, etc., there is something about the browsing that is always unsatisfying. 

 

When I find something cool, there is always a nagging thought that I must also be missing something, possibly many somethings, even cooler.  You follow a link, it leads to an article, which contains a link to a video on a site you've never visited before.  There is that "Aha" moment of finding something new, but for me there is also a reminder that there is a ton of other stuff I'll never link to, just because I don't know it's there.  I would have to multiply my computer time by ten to even get half of it, and that would, I'm sure, also increase the feeling that there was more that I hadn't seen, and so on, and so on, like the old Faberge shampoo commercials where the model with silky hair keep multiplying, and so on, and so on. 

On a related note: I had totally forgotten that Heather Locklear did this commercial, and I just lost almost twenty eight minutes reading about her illustrious career.  I forgot all of the shows she'd been in.  Spin City?  TJ Hooker?  Dallas... Wow.  I mainly remembered that she was married to Richie Sambora and that she was rumored to have dated David Spade.  Then I had to look him up-- and how is he related to Kate Spade, superstar handbag designer? (brother in- law)  and how long was he on SNL? I was only thrown free of that Internet twister when I stopped to wonder how I ended up watching a clip from Tommy Boy-- hey, when did Chris Farley pass? How long was he on SNL? Did he ever date Heather Locklear?)

You can see that I need help.  Or I could end up living in a van down by the river.  Yeah, I followed the Chris Farley thread.  I hang my head in shame...

This is why I have to cut the fat out of my Internet program.  I spent what I think was a productive forty five minutes "unsubscribing" (take a moment to shudder at the made up tech word, then let it go) from a few dozen email lists for things like stores and surveys and alumni groups.  That cuts down on some of the meandering and on the sheer bulk of email checking.   There is something almost depressing about seeing that your inbox is overflowing with the electronic equivalent of auto glass ads and coupons for free bikini waxes when all you want to do is get some information. I also just have to go back to limiting the time I spend at the computer.  I can write on-- get this-- paper, or at the computer without having to open the Internet browser. But it's so seductive.  You know... I'll just play some music... I'll open Spotify and oh, wait, I just need to Google something real quick... Oh look, something sparkly!  Yeah, once I turn it on, it's all down hill, so I have to have more will power.  More?  I mean some.  Some will power.

That's the ticket-- will power.  I'll just totally control all my impulses to distract myself on-line.  Yeah, right.  Then, for my next trick, I will lose fifty pounds by "eating right" and avoiding chocolate and other tempting treats. 

Maybe I'll just work on the Internet thing first...

Why You'll See Me in H-E-Double-Toothpicks

No one's perfect, right?  Maybe someone is, but if that perfect person tells us about it, that could be indulging in the sin of pride, and then, poof,  no more perfection.  No one we know for sure then, but if there is, she's keeping it to herself, because that's the kind of perfect person she is.  This little bit of inane logic makes me feel better when I think about my own universe of faults, and I have to think about them, or I couldn't even begin to try to fix them.  Of course, the way of a Jewish girl like myself isn't private confession and devout penance, but public complaint and sarcastic self-deprecation, so here is a partial outline of the character elements I should be improving.  Any plans to improve or progress toward such improvement will certainly appear in another post.

First, I'm lazy-- as in, I avoid work. As I write this, rumpled beds lay unmade, dirty dishes soak unwashed, and please, don't even get me started on what's dusty and sits undusted. And I can't let myself off the hook because I'm getting some writing done, because if there was a blog deadline, this baby would be on the back burner too, with the phone calls I have to make and closets I should clean.  This is because my will to get something done varies in inverse proportion to the urgency and magnitude of what I have to do. Wow, that was almost like math and it made me tired, but I mean the more I have to do, and the more quickly I should attend to it, the less I actually do. 

Is she contemplating her slothfulness?  I would be, just to avoid getting to work.

Those of you with a taste for the classics will want to identify this as the deadly sin Sloth, which sounds much more glamorous because it also somehow sounds more evil. Miss Lazy wears sweatpants and drinks juice from the carton, but Sloth is all dressed up in an evening gown, reclining on a chaise lounge with a cigarette holder and a cocktail, dismissing all the stuff that isn't getting done with a wave of her manicured fingernails.  Since I procrastinate by wasting time or doing one thing instead of another, I don't think I qualify for the tawdry glamour of sloth.   See, even my laziness is lazy.

This is because another of my big problems is that I am eminently distractable.  I just wandered away from here for a minute because I heard the blip-blip-blip of the Words with Friends game on my Facebook page, alerting me that it was my turn.  I mean seriously, I was in the middle of a sentence and I clicked away without even trying to finish it.  Sadly, there is no glamorous, classical name for such spineless attention deficit.  Further proof of this bad habit is confirmed by a quick walk through our apartment at about 4:30 on any given afternoon. Every room holds the beginning of a project--something I started with good intentions, then abandoned because I started something else, also with the intention of finishing, until the laziness and distraction washed over me.

You know where this is going-- those are good intentions...

And we all know what the road to hell is paved with don't we? In my case those good intentions often cause me to curse, even in front of my children.  Aw hell, I swear in front of other people's children too.  On Delia's class trip to the aquarium this week, one strapping young man ran through the ambient darkness of the dimly lit exhibits, crunching my toe and throwing me off balance toward a tank full of eels.  Of course I know the swearing has a deeper and uglier root-- my bad temper.  I wouldn't have to swear if I didn't fly off the handle.  Because I'm so cranky,  I've developed a fall-back faux-curse:"Flipping Flippers!" I wasn't able to manage that in the aquarium, though the words I chose started with the same letters.   I think only five or six people heard me though.

I hope they weren't judging me, but I couldn't blame them if they did, because one of the things that often diverts my attention is my own judgement of others.  Not that I really care if people swear-- they probably have good reasons.  Maybe their toes just got stepped on.  No, my special bad angel sits on my shoulder when I read because I am exceptionally critical about spelling and grammar errors.  In my own defense, I have made a living as a proofreader and editor, so my judgemental nature has provided me with some marketable skills.  I might have written a bestseller by now but for the laziness and distractability and, oh yes, the crippling agony of fear that I will make a mistake myself and therefore be a judged judger, haunted eternally by the knowledge of my own errors. At least this flaw comes with built-in punishment. I recently yanked a Facebook post that had been up for eight hours and already had comments, because I couldn't stand the idea that someone would realize I had put in an extraneous apostrophe. By the time you read this, I will have gone over it a hundred times, probably while I avoided something that urgently needed to be done.  But enough about me, back to judging the mistakes of others.

Publicly posted errors, such as a recent notice about a new group for fathers at Delia's elementary school really drive me nuts.  (There's my  bad temper again!) The flier, which was put up on walls all around the school and sent home in the backpacks of innocent children, read: 

Calling All Dad's! 

"All Dad's what?"was all I could think. 

I didn't immediately think of the awesome group of guys who wanted to get together and have some fun with their kids. No, I stood there wondering what kind of example those idiots were setting,  putting up a notice that was confusing and wrong.  Then I despaired because no one else was going to care anyway.  I only muttered to myself about that, but I am certain that a failure to keep my criticism to myself was a factor in the loss of my last job.  The boss put out long manifestos filled with errors and required everyone to read and initial them.  I left them on the counter, corrected, after reading them.  When she learned it was me, she icily asked that I go over the communiques before she put them out, since I was so smart and all, but I wasn't there long enough to really help her with her writing...

Maybe I couldn't stop myself from marking up the memos because I'm competitive.  No one will want to play with me after I post this, but I have to admit to a certain competitive streak which really reveals itself when I play Words with Friends.  I really hate to admit to being competitive, especially as it fights so hard with one of my major flaws, which I wrote about recently, always wanting to look like I have everything under control. It is hard to be nakedly, rampantly competitive while projecting an air of studied calm-- ennui, really-- about the craziness of this mad, mad world.  And you'll note that I'm too lazy to be competitive about anything requiring strenuous activity-- I already know that even Fiona can best me in a race, but only because I don't want to look like I'm working at it. 

 

I felt I had to include this fault though, after hearing myself growl, "Take that Wayne!" while jabbing Send Move on the keyboard for a particularly juicy word.   My friends are all intelligent, with great command of the language, so they are often ahead of me. Luckily, I really love a come-back, though I won't post those self-congratulatory messages on my Facebook wall, as that would be, you know, tacky. But seriously, I crack myself up with how happy I am to get ahead in something so simple, and I die a teensy tiny bit when I lose. 

 

I don't know them, but if I did, I would be envious.

 

I play on Facebook when I am supposed to be getting things done, as I noted above.  Thankfully, Facebook is not something that similarly inspires my competitive nature,  but does bring out another of the seven big sins--Envy.  Everyone looks like their lives are better and more fun and they do more stuff and they look so thin and their kids are so cute-- well my kids are cute too, and I'm proud of that, which could be another flaw on my list, but pride looks like a sin that takes some work, and as you can see, I've already got a lot on my plate.  And I just thought of something else I could be doing.

 

(Leave a comment and let me know what I've forgotten-- or let me know what flaws you're working on.  I won't tell.)

Sloth cartoon here. Myrna being slothful, here.  Cobblestones here.  Grammar laugh here. Happy family, here.  Signpost image found here.

Why it Might be Okay Put Off Until Tomorrow What You Can Do Today

*See note below

Hi, my name is Erin, and I'm a procrastinator.

I am ashamed to say how long it has taken me to finish writing this. Maybe you'll get a rough an idea if I tell you that there were a slew of visits to Facebook friends, about a thousand games of Words with Friends and Bejeweled and quite a nice little while  making an Etsy treasury.   Then there were the untold hours poring over Brain Pickings (watched this amazing video about physicist Richard Feynman three times), Shutterbean (excellent recipe for quick cheese bread that I will probably go and bake instead of finishing this post),  Smitten Kitchen (great recipe for lemon bars), and various other websites devoted to thought, food, and life in general.  All while this sat in the post queue, unfinished, unpublished and unloved.

Of course, I also dusted, and made the girls' beds, and put together a tuna noodle casserole. You see, I learned to procrastinate in the old days, before the Internet, when you actually had to do something to defer doing something else. 
 
We're talking days, people, days of putting off finishing a tiny little blog post. 

In my rapacious avoidance of work on something constructive, I foraged the Internet for current philosophical thought about my condition. I clicked links to multiple articles, like this one, and tried to order this book from the library, which would have given me something to do one day next week when I am trying to avoid something I should be doing instead. Of course, the fact that the local library didn't own the book led me to the kind of advanced catalog search that only really skilled procrastinators such as myself could gleefully and guiltily engage in. It was so good in fact, that I put off finishing it until the next time I go to the library.

The bits I read about procrastinating made me feel a little better. There seems to be some thought that putting off a project gives people time to formulate exactly how they will attack it when it becomes absolutely, positively unavoidable. From my own experience as a grad student, I can offer anecdotal evidence that bears this out.  When I finally hit zero hour in the library (usually when a paper is due before ten the next morning) and I have checked and rechecked sources, organized actual paper note cards, read miscellaneous J-Stor links about vaguely related topics, and eaten untoastable toaster pastries from the vending machine on the next floor,  I've found myself suddenly inspired.  I can buckle down and write, knowing that I have no other choice.  Somehow, I know I am ready, and the words don't just flow, they gush.  The downside of this is that it stokes the flame of the "I work well under pressure" myth that burns deep in my heart, so each time I have a writing assignment due, it  takes a bit longer to get to crunch time. 

I made this necklace while I was supposed to
be doing something else.  Of course, I did
something else while I was supposed to
be finishing it. 

This burst of "readiness" leads me to the thought that procrastination can be an odd form of perfectionism.  I start things, not just writing assignments, but jewelry projects, organizing tasks, and all kinds of applications and other paperwork, with a burst of optimistic energy and a shining vision of the completed work.  As I get into it, doubt creeps in. I have a need to reassess and be certain that I am taking the right approach.  That's when I start dusting or web-surfing or eating whatever I can readily obtain.  I turn the project over in my subconscious mind, tinkering and perfecting it somewhere in my brain's crowded and unimproved basement workshop.  A looming deadline, even a self imposed one, like "this must be done before the kids get home," hustles me out of workshop mode and into action.  Confidence is somehow renewed, because all I can do now is finish.   I must have it right.  It's procrastination magic!
 
Doesn't that put a positive spin on what appears to be slothful time wasting?  Yeah, I wasn't convinced either, until I thought about  about all that  stuff I get done while I'm not finishing a project.    Usually, it is work that I have been putting off, er I mean, perfecting.  Sometimes, it just means that my house gets clean.  By the way, the cheese bread and the lemon bars were excellent.

That is the circle of the procrastinating life:  eventually, everything gets done. 




*Image from militant libertarian.  Don't know anything about them, but after spending (gulp) more than an hour looking for just the right image, I decided on this.