Time Management for Writers

Yawn! Do we have to talk about it now? Can’t we talk about it later?

The simple definition of procrastination, sometimes known as the ‘pleasure principle’, is the action of delaying or postponing something, typically because it is unpleasant or boring.

What is of concern is that procrastination is also the action of delaying or postponing something we like, even love, something we might want very, very much - such as writing a novel, or our mother’s biography of her travels up the Nile, or our father’s muffin cookbook.

One of the reasons that procrastination is a common problem is because it’s an excellent strategy for avoiding failure. After all, it has an evolutionary advantage allowing us to stop and consider our options (or our surroundings) before launching in and making poor choices (or being eaten).

In my years of teaching creative writing, the most common excuse given for not completing a writing task is ‘life just got so hectic this week’ or words to that effect. Of course, life does have its moments of becoming incredibly busy, often unexpectedly, and writing might indeed need to be put on the back burner to accommodate it. However, it’s when this becomes the pattern of excuse that is the problem.

Fear of failing can be crippling, particularly when, as creative writers, we’re exposing our thoughts, imagination and skills to others, or perhaps even to just ourselves. Fear of failure can be a reflection of low self-confidence or perfectionist anxiety that might be disguising low self-confidence.

Workshopping is a typical component of a creative writing class and for good reason. As writers working in isolation, it can be very difficult to objectively determine the quality of our own work. We can think it’s fabulous, when perhaps it’s not and, more often, we can think it’s dreadful, when in fact it’s not. Workshopping, when managed by a competent teacher who establishes the reasons for the process (e.g. providing constructive feedback to the writer on what works and what might work better), is often the favourite part of a writing class. That’s what I tell my students in the first week, and I try to reassure them that, despite their anxiety, they will get a lot out of it.

I see their trepidation when we discuss how the next week’s first workshop will unfold. If the class is an optional short course, I remind them in an email beforehand that it’s worth continuing the course and to not be put off by the idea of sharing their work. It’s understandable to be nervous, I tell them and then hold my breath as I take the attendance roll the following week. Of all the hundreds of students I have taught, only two have not come back. For the others, yes, they’re nervous in that first workshop; some might even take up the option of a walk while the others (usually small groups) read their work, but by the end of that first night, it’s a whole different story. Not only have they connected with their writing peers and realised that all the others were as nervous as they were, but I see their pride and their hunger to learn. Everyone comes back the next week and the next … and some continue well after the course is finished to meet and share their work.

To write is to be brave. If you have no intention of letting anyone else read it – ever – but simply want to see if you can complete a writing project, then perhaps there’s no need for others to provide you with feedback. However, most of us, including me, have that old extrinsic motivation – to be published spurring us on. If you hold the manuscript close to your chest until it's sitting on an editor’s desk, it’s a bit late. While I have listed wanting to be published under the extrinsic motivation heading, it’s a worthy motivator because there’s nothing like having a reader – someone you connect with through your words, and it’s better to know that you’re making that sort of connection, or not, as you go.