What I’ve Learned So Far

The prolific novelist Louis Auchincloss has written many books during his long career as a practicing attorney. When asked about how he’s kept up with his writing while also maintaining a busy practice, he has said that he knows how to take advantage of those odd ten-minute periods that crop up in a day. If he finds himself with pockets of time like that, he writes. The result is more than 60 novels, story collections, and nonfiction works.

Note this from a 2004 interview in the Boston Globe:

How was it possible to raise a family, be a senior partner in a Wall Street law firm, and also write 60 books? By using every available free moment.

Auchincloss drafts in longhand on a yellow legal pad, usually three sheets in a day. He pointed to a large mural by his wife on the corridor wall outside his apartment. It shows a small family seated on a bench in Central Park: the Auchinclosses, about 50 years ago. The mother is holding a baby and a second boy is running about. The man, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, is bent over a legal pad.

Auchincloss said, ‘’If I’m on the surrogate’s calendar [the New York City Surrogate’s Court, which handles estate cases], the case might come up the moment I walk into court, or it might be called an hour and a half later. I’d always have a little notebook that I could write in, in that time. A real writer would learn that trick very quickly if he had to. You shut your mind on and off perfectly well; it’s just a matter of habit. A lot of writers have to have complete silence and the fire going, their slippers on and a drink, all very comfortable and so on.”

Anthony Trollope, likewise, often traveled by train while fulfilling his duties for the Royal Post. He discovered that he could use a notebook and compose fictional prose about as fast as he did when sitting at home in his famous early-morning sessions. His productivity rose from its already grand heights.

I’m thinking of this today because I was able to finish off a chore — hardly Phineas Finn, but a meaningful bit of work — this afternoon between two family engagements. When I got home from the first one, I estimated we might have 90 minutes before we had to leave for the second. I wasn’t certain that the job could be finished in that time, but I gave it a go. What do you know? It worked — and it didn’t even take the whole time.

Maybe you’ve seen the old teacher’s trick, useful for teaching various lessons from chemistry to time management, about filling a jar again and again without emptying it. (I may have first read about it in a time-management book — I forget.) The professor puts a big jar on the table and sets a tray of largish rocks next to it. “How many rocks will it take to fill the jar? ” Members of the audience guess, and as it turns out, the professor fits in six of them.

Prof: “Is it full?”
Class: “Yes.”

From under the table the professor pulls out a carton of gravel and pours it over the large rocks, shakes it all down, then pours in more until the jar is full to the top.

Prof: “Is it full?”
Class: “Yes.” “No.” “As full as it can be of rocks and gravel.”

From under the table the professor pulls a big jug of sand and pours it over the top of the rocks and gravel. The sand filters down into all the crevices. The professor shakes it all down, then tops off the jar.

Prof: “Is it full?”
Class: “No!”

The professor pulls out a pitcher of water and pours it over the stones, gravel, and sand until the jar is, at long last, well and truly full.

The best time for productivity is long, uninterrupted time. But every day has interstices, the space between the bits of gravel and sand, waiting to be exploited. You can write shelves full of good novels — you can build your empire — ten minutes at a time, if that’s all you’ve got.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 22nd, 2006 at 8:44 pm and is filed under Excellence, Career, Living richly, Writing.