Time, Gentlemen, Please
Thursday, December 11. 2008
I've said it before: Time is the most precious commodity there is. Idioms notwithstanding, time cannot be saved, made, or bought. It's the great leveler—everyone has the exact same amount of time in a given day, week, month, year.
So how in blazes is anyone able to actually finish a novel?
I'm familiar with the concept of budgeting time. I read The Complete Idiot's Guide to Managing Your Time about six years ago and did in fact find it helpful; it's probably due for a re-read. [Walks to bookcase, pulls out said book, lays it on top of pile of papers on desk with all good intentions.] Or at least a re-scan; I may not have time to actually read it.
Despite budgeting efforts, I often reach the end of a day or week and wonder where the time went. It's not as though I waste a lot of it. I rarely watch television anymore (just The Office on hulu.com, and the occasional DVD), I almost never play video games, and I don't even get the recommended eight hours of sleep each night (I usually shoot for seven). So what's sucking up all my time? Two things: my full-time job, and instant access to information.
I can't do anything about the job, and I've lamented that previously in this space. I do have to eat.
The big black hole of time, I think, is the Internet. It's a valuable and indispensable resource for research, but it makes it far too easy to chase rabbits. Hypertext is the enabler of the eighth deadly sin, which I'll call information gluttony. I'm addicted to Wikipedia, and the WWW in general—I can find the answer to just about any question, no matter how arcane, no matter how little it has to do with my actually accomplishing anything as I go about my daily life. Now I've got wireless broadband, which makes matters even worse, since I can get my info fix anywhere, anytime.
I have to will myself to stop. It's not important what year "Eye of the Tiger" was released, what the name of that movie was that Steve Carrell was in, how many different flavors of Monster energy drink there are, what year the Strathisla distillery was built. Interesting...but not important.
Far more important is pouring out the rest of the novel bits I have floating around in my head. That's more important, too, than blogging, so off I go...
I've said it before: Time is the most precious commodity there is. Idioms notwithstanding, time cannot be saved, made, or bought. It's the great leveler—everyone has the exact same amount of time in a given day, week, month, year.
So how in blazes is anyone able to actually finish a novel?
I'm familiar with the concept of budgeting time. I read The Complete Idiot's Guide to Managing Your Time about six years ago and did in fact find it helpful; it's probably due for a re-read. [Walks to bookcase, pulls out said book, lays it on top of pile of papers on desk with all good intentions.] Or at least a re-scan; I may not have time to actually read it.
Despite budgeting efforts, I often reach the end of a day or week and wonder where the time went. It's not as though I waste a lot of it. I rarely watch television anymore (just The Office on hulu.com, and the occasional DVD), I almost never play video games, and I don't even get the recommended eight hours of sleep each night (I usually shoot for seven). So what's sucking up all my time? Two things: my full-time job, and instant access to information.
I can't do anything about the job, and I've lamented that previously in this space. I do have to eat.
The big black hole of time, I think, is the Internet. It's a valuable and indispensable resource for research, but it makes it far too easy to chase rabbits. Hypertext is the enabler of the eighth deadly sin, which I'll call information gluttony. I'm addicted to Wikipedia, and the WWW in general—I can find the answer to just about any question, no matter how arcane, no matter how little it has to do with my actually accomplishing anything as I go about my daily life. Now I've got wireless broadband, which makes matters even worse, since I can get my info fix anywhere, anytime.
I have to will myself to stop. It's not important what year "Eye of the Tiger" was released, what the name of that movie was that Steve Carrell was in, how many different flavors of Monster energy drink there are, what year the Strathisla distillery was built. Interesting...but not important.
Far more important is pouring out the rest of the novel bits I have floating around in my head. That's more important, too, than blogging, so off I go...
So how in blazes is anyone able to actually finish a novel?
I'm familiar with the concept of budgeting time. I read The Complete Idiot's Guide to Managing Your Time about six years ago and did in fact find it helpful; it's probably due for a re-read. [Walks to bookcase, pulls out said book, lays it on top of pile of papers on desk with all good intentions.] Or at least a re-scan; I may not have time to actually read it.
Despite budgeting efforts, I often reach the end of a day or week and wonder where the time went. It's not as though I waste a lot of it. I rarely watch television anymore (just The Office on hulu.com, and the occasional DVD), I almost never play video games, and I don't even get the recommended eight hours of sleep each night (I usually shoot for seven). So what's sucking up all my time? Two things: my full-time job, and instant access to information.
I can't do anything about the job, and I've lamented that previously in this space. I do have to eat.
The big black hole of time, I think, is the Internet. It's a valuable and indispensable resource for research, but it makes it far too easy to chase rabbits. Hypertext is the enabler of the eighth deadly sin, which I'll call information gluttony. I'm addicted to Wikipedia, and the WWW in general—I can find the answer to just about any question, no matter how arcane, no matter how little it has to do with my actually accomplishing anything as I go about my daily life. Now I've got wireless broadband, which makes matters even worse, since I can get my info fix anywhere, anytime.
I have to will myself to stop. It's not important what year "Eye of the Tiger" was released, what the name of that movie was that Steve Carrell was in, how many different flavors of Monster energy drink there are, what year the Strathisla distillery was built. Interesting...but not important.
Far more important is pouring out the rest of the novel bits I have floating around in my head. That's more important, too, than blogging, so off I go...
Craig on :
Now, what was the movie that had that guy? You know, the one the girl who.....
Dennis on :