A Matter of Single-Mindedness

Going back a few years, I worked in a place where the offices were in different buildings - an arrangement called “hen and chickens” - a large building in the middle with smaller ones around it. I worked in one of the “chickens” and four days out of five, I was first to arrive. Each day I popped into the “hen” to pick up our post, then unlocked our building and, having taken the key from the key-safe, unlocked the secretary’s office to put the post on her desk.

I switched on the water-boiler in the staffroom, so others would arrive to a hot drink. After that, I turned on the computers in the main suite, including logging into all of them and opening the appropriate programs. Only then did I go down the corridor to my own room.

That happened four days a week. On the fifth day, a colleague – let’s call her Maggie – arrived first. I would arrive about twenty minutes later…. to find the post hadn’t been collected, the hot water hadn’t been switched on and the computers hadn’t been touched. Even the lights were off. Maggie had simply marched straight to her room without even switching on the light in the corridor.

I’ll be honest – I resented it. But then I pictured how she was immediately getting started on her work and decided to give her technique a go. But on the one occasion I swept inside and headed straight for my room, I felt so guilty when the next person arrived and started setting things up, that I never did it again.

Yes, Maggie’s behaviour annoyed me – but d’you know something? I admired it too. Imagine being single-minded enough to ignore the “polite” need to do the setting up for everyone else.

Maggie has flitted across my mind a few times in recent months. When I was made redundant from my day job last summer, I took the plunge and became a full-time writer. Should I now adopt Maggie’s attitude to work? Is this a good way to be, if you are a writer – or indeed anyone else who is self-employed?

It worked well in November when I used NaNoWriMo to plough my way towards the end of a book. My attitude then was “Tell me if the house is on fire but otherwise leave me alone,” and, with the cooperation of the rest of the household, this worked. It worked to the tune of 66,000 words.

But... I couldn’t be like that all the time. It isn’t me. And it would be unpleasant for the rest of the household.

But... should it be me? This is now my job. Should I adopt a tougher attitude?

The way I have got round this, is by regularly “going out to work”, ie by taking my writing elsewhere... leaving behind my redecorated, re-carpeted and freshly curtained office, complete with the pretty, Edwardian desk that was a present from my husband and the view of Mount Snowdon in the distance.

Thoughts, anyone?