“Multitasking can actually lower your performance on IQ tests — by about 10 points. Smoking a joint only costs you 4 points. So if you have to choose between multitasking and marijuana, the choice should be clear, although your boss and your government probably see things differently. Bosses and governments love multitasking.”
- from Randy Ingermanson’s article “Organizing: Does Multitasking Make You Stupid?”
I don’t know where he got his statistics from, so maybe this is full of it, but, personally, I’d buy it. Now, for clarification, I have a dirty little secret. I’ve lived in Austin, TX for fifteen years now and never gotten high. Yes, I am a strange beast. So my opinion on the quote might be as suspect as the facts in it. Buy I have noticed that while 2 glasses of wine have suspect value for my editing ability, they can make drafting a heckuva lot easier. I can focus, I don’t care if I sound stupid, I just type and type and type and type. And the results are usually not as bad as one would expect, and regardless it’s down on paper, which is more than I can say for a lot of days.
Not that I usually write under the influence – I have no aspirations to be one of those drunken, maudlin writer types – but I gotta admit there’s a certain fun to the occasional tippled typing.
However, I cannot write – drafting or editing – while chatting, talking on the phone, listening to a song that I want to sing along with (when I’m really mentally deep into my writing, music helps. When I’m not that deep into my writing, music hurts), or even while worrying about my calendar or the query letter I will one day write or the brilliant marketing strategy I’ll only get to use if I ever get this thing published. And once I let myself get distracted, it’s gone. I have the hardest time getting back in.
I feel bad sometimes, because I’ll finally be rolling along, and Scott will poke his head in the room and say something. Scott has a habit of doing hit and run conversations – he says one thing, expects a response, and then walks off. Then he’ll come back five minutes later, say one thing, expect a response, and walk off. And I don’t want to be rude to my most wonderful of husbands, but I don’t want to lose this thought train that was so hard to get onto (especially while drafting – I can hop on and off the editing thought train much easier). So I’ve got a choice. Ignore him with a “talk to the hand” (too rude, I can’t do it – besides, even registering a conversation has started the derail), grunt a suitable sounding response based on his tone of voice (but not actually the words he said – if Scott ever came by and said “my company folded today” in a happy tone of voice, I’d probably grunt “Great!” at him) and take 30 seconds or so to get back into the draft, or hop off the train completely, ask him to repeat what he just said so that I can really register it, give him my full attention and a thoughtful reply, watch him walk off, and then turn back to my screen with no idea what to type next. And about the time I’ve almost gotten my rhythm back, he’ll come by for another drive-by. Make me want to scream and throw things.
Multi-tasking. I just can’t do it. And I’m finding more and more studies (with more statistics than the above) backing that while multitasking may increase the amount accomplished (or it may decrease it), it significantly reduces the quality of everything done. Can we get a Twelve-Step Program for those who want to move away from chaotic, multi-tasking dependence and learn to free our minds for good old fashioned one thing at a time?
[ request from Ingermanson that this be included with quotes:
Award-winning novelist Randy Ingermanson, "the Snowflake Guy," publishes the Advanced Fiction Writing E-zine, with more than 19,000 readers, every month. If you want to learn the craft and marketing of fiction, AND make your writing more valuable to editors, AND have FUN doing it, visit http://www.AdvancedFictionWriting.com.
Download your free Special Report on Tiger Marketing and get a free 5-Day Course in How To Publish a Novel.]
Last week I had two days of fabulous writing goodness pouring from brain to page, and today it’s back again to writing by mental cheese grater. I don’t know why sometimes it’s easy and there are words and words and words and sometimes it’s painful and there are no words to show for it. Or at least no good words to show for it. The good news is I’ve passed the halfway mark on novel three (woo…) and if I can only finish before angels and dragons become the next big thing (too late) I’m hoping it’ll do well querying.
… I haven’t heard of any of these. That’s the New York Times’ list of the best books of 2009. And to reiterate, I didn’t say I haven’t read them. I said I haven’t heard of them. Any of them. And I’m hoping to become a published writer one day. They haven’ t been on Amazon anywhere where I can find them (including the Kindle bestseller list that I regularly stalk) or the front page (which admittedly for me is a lot more likely to have the latest Kim Harrison or Jim Butcher), or even the New York Times book review email, which I read about half the time. Where do you find these books?
Three of them at least look interesting to me and my tastes.
You know, I like artsy plays. I can go and two hours later come out, maybe a little more somber, but feeling enlightened. Laramie Project, Doubt, Wit… I LOVE these. But books are such an investment of my time… if I’m going to “educate” myself, I guess I’d rather read Edith Wharton or Charles Dickens or D. H. Lawrence, or, heck, finally finish Ulysses (I’m like 2 chapters from the end… gonna… make it… one day….).
At least from what I’ve read (and, granted, I need to read more modern literary novels, so I will admit that this is an uneducated standpoint given from a small sample), to be literary the writing can have very little joy (’cause quality can’t be tainted by happy?) and has to be very much what I would call “masculine”: spare, emotionally distanced, grisly details that you see as if watching on camera, with these characters who are so flawed and/or twisted that I can’t figure out if I’m supposed to root for them or condemn them. And frequently it feels to me like the story takes second place to the prose itself, and I don’t understand why. I mean, pretty writing is nice, but I think substance is every bit as important as shell. I’d rather have friends who are caring and joyful who help me be a better me than friends who know how to dress and get their makeup right every time. (Not that there’s anything wrong with well dressed and getting your makeup right every time. My sister is an absolutely fabulous example of substance meets style – on a budget, even. She amazes and shames me.)
I have this feeling that if I tried hard enough, I would change and understand what the literati have been trying to tell me for years. I also have this feeling that if I read more modern literature it would probably help my writing. So I should read more literature. Maybe I should grab those three books that sounded interesting and give ‘em a go. Maybe I will.
But I have 84 books on my Kindle that I haven’t read yet, ranging from Sun Tzu to Nalini Singh, and I can’t quite figure out when I became uneducated because I’d rather finish my Jane Austen collection than read a book about a “turbulent life — marred by alcoholism, financial turmoil and family discord” or prose that has “quiet restraint and calm precision” (quotes from NYT reviews on the link above).
Am I doomed? Anybody got a painless way to break into the world of modern literature for someone who prefers F. Scott Fitzgerald to Hemingway and spends her time bouncing back and forth between Victorian literature and Kresley Cole?
Today’s sermon at the local UU church ended that way. It was an interesting message about active waiting, and the phrase was based on a piece from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek in which the narrator “stalks” a muskrat, i.e. spends a lot of time waiting on the creek bank for a muskrat to show up. The theme was that sometimes, we have to wait. And we can spend our lives passively waiting for the next big thing, or we can realize that waiting is an integral part of the human experience – as every funeral reminds us, life is one big wait for death – and spend the waiting in something productive, learning from the wait.
Right now, as I’m on The Great Agent Hunt, there is a part of my brain that’s always waiting… for an email, for a phone call, for some message, yes or no, that means I can put that transaction in a category and move forward or move on. But other than making sure I always have a query (or two. Or five) out there, there’s nothing I can do to hustle things. I just have to wait.
When I started this process, the best advice any writer gave me was to write something else. And so I’m working on my third novel, and after endless critiquing and reviewing of the first two, it has been a wonderful miracle to get back to the first stages of creation again. Those days when characters and plot are still being carved from the silence, and themes and motifs are appearing, frequently unbidden, in the words. So I’ve found my way of stalking a writing career, as maybe the minister would say.
So many faiths right now have a waiting – an advent – for the birth, for the light to go out, for the light to return, for the year to end and new resolutions to begin… this built in annual reminder that sometimes as humans we have to wait and hope, and yet continue to find meaning inside of that space. Blessed Advent to you, however you choose to celebrate it (or not to celebrate it). May you find peace, hope, and a reason for goodwill.
This was really interesting to me, because I had a sort of epiphany. We always talk about “killing our darlings” as in getting rid of scenes that don’t work or whatever, as if we have this feeling like each word from our brains is gold… but that’s not really true. Most writers I know don’t think that their words are all golden. Most writers I know seem to think most of their words are crap (even when they’re not), so why the trouble cutting?
Reminds me of my high schoolers, and sometimes with their writing it would be three pages long, but it would take two pages to get to a point, and I’d be like, “You need to cut the first two pages; they’re brainstorming. They have no meaning,” and I’d get these horrified looks like, “But I did that work! I should get credit for it! How will people know how much work I did if I only show them 1/3 of it??” I think a lot of our reluctance to let go is not that we’re so in love with everything we put down, but that we want ‘E’s for effort; a “what I lack in quality I make up for in quantity” sort of thing. And a lot of the world growing up seems to work that way – from the simple: show your work in math – to the more morally complicated: we don’t ask where the money comes from, we just know that more is better.
But that isn’t the case anymore. As artists, we need to so enjoy what we do that we create without the need for credit. Then every scene we excise, every doodle that ends up in the recycle bin, every camera shot that gets erased was a fun day that we had with our craft, and that is sufficient to satisfy. A little sacrifice to the muses, if you prefer to think of it that way. I realize that that must be damn hard when you’re on a deadline, but I think the principle is sound.
My second creative love after writing, the art of theater, is very frustrating and fascinating at the same time because by it’s very nature, the act of communicating your art is the act of deleting it. Once a performance is done, it will never again happen just that way. Once a show closes, that piece art is gone from the world, and no recording can ever bring it back with it’s true creative magic. (Food and wine are another one of these art forms, though I think mentally easier to deal with the “consumption” thereof). I think those of us that concretize our work in its creation (by committing it to paper or clay or whatever your medium) have a harder time letting go because we don’t have to. But an actor would scoff at the idea of holding onto a rehearsal. How do you do that? And if you did, what would be the point? All the effort of actors, directors, scene designers, etc. produce a product that is an insane reduction of all the work that went into it. Two hours in the viewing from months of labor by tens to hundreds of people… and then the product is lost to oblivion. But theater artists revel in that ephemeral nature. That “if you weren’t there, you can’t have it.” And I think all of us can learn from that attitude.
Most of the shots Michael Jordan made in his lifetime were not during a game. But each one he made alone, outside of an audience, helped him be the man we loved to watch on the court. And so shall I learn from his example.
(And I somehow managed to get writing, teaching, theater, basketball, and Star Wars all into one post!!! Hmm… what is missing…. VAMPIRES, VAMPIRES, VAMPIRES!!!… OK, now I think I have all the topics my life revolves around. )
"Maybe I just have a limited attention span, but life is keeping me pretty busy. I’m going to be dead a lot longer than I’m alive. Plenty of time to figure out the afterlife then."
Urban Fantasy is…
“In urban fantasy you don’t leave the chip shop and go to another world to find the unicorn. Rather, the unicorn shows up at the chip shop and orders the cod.”
–Elizabeth Bear
)