In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990s moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care.
Writing in the Office
I’m working on the executive summary for an annual report on a major grant. Much of the report involves importing budget numbers from wherever, and I have help with that, but the summary part is my own. Which means I have to write in the office.
I’m working on the executive summary for an annual report on a major grant. Much of the report involves importing budget numbers from wherever, and I have help with that, but the summary part is my own.
Which means I have to write in the office.
Intersession is the right time to do that, if it must be done. The interruptions-per-hour are fewer, and with fewer classes running come fewer emergencies. But it’s still difficult.
Some people deal with that by coming in on weekends, or staying into the wee hours of the evening. But with my childcare obligations, that really isn’t an option. (Besides, if I’m around, I’m found.) Some people take extended writing assignments home, but between family time, any errands, the blog, and the book, I just don’t have much left in the tank by the time I finally get to it.
So I play distraction slalom, swerving from this distraction to that one without falling down. Ideally.
Office writing lends itself well to emails, since they’re brief and usually either reactive or pro forma. (“The meeting has been moved to room 240” isn’t terribly taxing.) If I get interrupted in the middle of composing a three-sentence email, it usually isn’t too hard to reconstruct what I was doing. (Exception: the dreaded “drafts” folder. It serves the same function as the vegetable rotter drawer in the fridge.) But if it’s an extended and detailed piece with serious money hanging in the balance, I can’t just write it on the corner of my mind.
The same thing held true in my faculty days. I had always assumed that the office would be the perfect place to write, but it really wasn’t; there was just too much going on. Students would drop by, colleagues would drop by, hallway conversations would linger...
In a real pinch, I could always just shut the door and keep everyone out for a while. But I’m not wild about the message that sends, especially if I’m alone in there. I’ll close the door if I’m discussing a sensitive topic with someone, but closing the door when it’s just me just feels self-indulgent. I try to save that for the most extreme cases.
Wise and worldly readers, have you found tricks to make extended office writing easier?
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