My afternoon is not communal property merely because someone has thought of a reason to interrupt it. I have a company to build, fiction to write and an impressive capacity for becoming absorbed in both. I like that about myself. Bonfire Night may supply something to look forward to, but it doesn’t need to requisition the entire day in advance. Nor does every notification. The interesting question is usually which project gets the next hour, and whether I can resist allowing seven other things to squeeze into it wearing the expression of an emergency.
My days have a shape, and they have had one for years. Mornings belong to work, and the work is real – building, writing, deciding, revising, the long concentration that serious projects require and that can’t be interrupted without being damaged. Concentration is not a mood that can be summoned at will and abandoned at a moment’s notice. It’s a structure, built over an hour or two of uninterrupted attention, and it collapses the instant someone else’s urgency is allowed inside it. I learned early that the most expensive thing I own is not anything that could be photographed. It’s an unbroken morning, and I protect it accordingly.
Availability needs to be communicated where people make arrangements, rather than guessed from a blog post. Current booking information should tell someone when a service is available and how to enquire. An old entry isn’t a reliable diary, however confidently it was written. I like the simplicity of that distinction. It allows a personal essay to remain a personal essay, and it means a reader can make practical plans using information intended for the purpose. If a particular time matters, the sensible thing is to confirm it before making a commitment.
A quick reply can be lovely. It isn’t the only possible evidence of care. Sometimes the more useful response is the considered one that arrives when somebody can give it proper attention. That doesn’t excuse missing a response that was promised as part of a service; it simply recognises that different conversations have different expectations. A friend, a reader and someone with a booked appointment aren’t all asking the same thing. Treating every notification as equally urgent makes it surprisingly difficult to do any of those conversations well. I would rather be clear about what I can give than enthusiastically promise more.
I find concentration much easier when a decision has already been made about it. There is a difference between opening a manuscript and constantly negotiating whether I should still be looking at it. The latter manages to be tiring without producing very much. Putting a task first for a while gives me a chance to discover what it needs. Sometimes that’s an hour of useful work. Sometimes it’s the realisation that the idea needs more thought before I can make progress. Both are better than an afternoon spent half-working and half-apologising for not doing something else.
Enjoyment deserves the same consideration. A lovely dinner becomes considerably less lovely when unfinished correspondence has been invited to sit between the plates. A walk doesn’t need to double as a meeting. I can find it difficult to leave an interesting problem alone, but I also want the pleasure of being properly present for the rest of my life. The problem is unlikely to improve its manners by being indulged at every opportunity. Choosing an evening for something enjoyable is a decision worth keeping. My work matters; it can survive not being the guest of honour at dinner.
What I want from a well-planned week is enough room for the work and the enjoyment of what the work makes possible. That will look different from one week to another. A draft may need more of me; another day may be best spent elsewhere. Having preferences doesn’t mean every hour must follow an identical timetable. It means I can notice what the day needs and make a decision with some intention behind it. I like being busy. I especially like being busy with things I’ve chosen, rather than merely being very available to other people’s notifications.
An hour given proper attention is worth having. I intend to give mine to things that deserve it, rather than whichever notification has learned to shout most convincingly.
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Additional Reading:
Perfect Weather for Writing Expensive Smut: Luxury FinDom Tales
Bonfire Night: Only The Fireworks Explode
