Workflow Wednesday · Word Crafters

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Workflow Wednesday

When Life Splashes (Keep the Boat Moving)

So I have a confession, and it's going to sound like an odd way to open a workflow article. My plan did not survive this month. Not one piece of it. The plan didn't survive contact with the first Tuesday. Whew.

Here's the short version of the last few weeks. I was sick for several days and still pushing through it. We had craft shows, which means up all night making inventory and then standing in a tent for eight to 12 hours in old shoes. The day job started eating eight to ten hours every day. Three boys in the house who need things, because that's what boys do. And underneath all of it, over 92 projects in the works, most of them more than half done, because I can't leave a good idea alone.

That's the splash of life. And if you're reading this, I'd bet yours has a different shape but the same wet feeling.

The demons aren't what you think

People talk about the demons like they're one thing. In my experience there are two, and they work as a team.

The first is the pile. Too much to do, not enough hours, and the volume was never sized to one human. That one is just math and i don't math well without a calculator.

The second is the voice that shows up when the pile wins. It wears the costume of responsibility and says "you're not ready yet" or "you've fallen too far behind to start again." That's fear and self-doubt, and it feeds on the first demon.

Now add ADHD, which is how my particular version runs. I don't have steady days. I have highs and lows. On a high, I'm hyper productive, I build whole systems before lunch, and I'm convinced this is finally the one that works. On a low, I can't open the document I was thrilled about forty-eight hours ago. The high builds the system. The low breaks it. And then the demon says "see, you can't keep a system," and the high shows up and builds a new one. (ed. --Today was a lego builder. i'll put it in another post)

(Sidebar: that's how you end up with 92 projects. Every high starts something. Every low leaves it half done. It's not a character flaw, it's a pattern, and a pattern you can plan around once you can see it. Or start a new project trying to build a new tool to help and then share it with friends).

Here's the part I had to learn the hard way. A system that needs a good day to run will fail on a bad day. And the bad days are not rare. So the workflow isn't "how to stay organized." It's "how to restart after the plan dies."

The restart, in four moves

Pick one load-bearing thing.

Not the most urgent thing, not the thing with the red badge. The one commitment other people are actually counting on. For me it's often the article or the deadline I made publicly. Protect that one like it's the only real thing this week, because some weeks it is. Everything else is optional until that one is safe.

Park the tangents, don't kill them.

A new idea is going to arrive mid-crash. It always does. Write it down in one line and put it on the list (somewhere safe so you won't loste it...right!). The warren isn't going anywhere, and you don't have to explore it today. Killing the idea feels like loss. Parking it feels like a promise, and the promise is what lets you let go forward.

Shrink the restart to eight minutes.

This is the Chapter Zero idea, and it's built for exactly this. Before you open the manuscript, write one paragraph from memory about where the story is right now. Write one question about what the next scene has to do. Write a first line. That's it. The cold start after a bad week is the hardest part, and eight minutes of prep give you time to find your feet.

Order beats hours.

When the schedule is dead, stop trying to schedule. Instead, give your writing first refusal on any window that opens. Fifteen minutes at lunch, a gap before the kids wake up, the hour the show winds down. Whatever opens, writing gets first look. Anything left over goes to the rest.

The kindness rule

I'll say this plainly because it matters more than the four moves. A missed day is not a broken streak. You can write on the Desk tools that yesterday still counts if you haven't written yet today, and I think that's the right instinct to carry in your head too. The streak only dies when you decide a whole day of nothing means you're done. It doesn't. It means you had a day.

There's no shame tax on a bad week. The shame costs more than the week did.

Small things that help

I've been leaning on a few things lately, and none of them are clever.

Set your goal low. Lower than you think. A goal you hit most weeks is worth more than a goal you miss four weeks running.

Keep a short list of the one to five things you'd actually forget, not fifty things you wish you'd do.

Use the Tasks Focus view if you've got the Desk, so you only see what's overdue or due this week.

Look at which book is closest to done, because that's usually the one to finish, and it's usually not the one you've been thinking about.

What the demons can't argue with

Here's what finally helped me, and it isn't a trick. It's the Litany I wrote about a while ago. Fear is the mind-killer, and the answer isn't to fight it, it's to let it pass over you and notice what's left. When the pile and the voice both show up at once, I try to sit with it for a minute instead of fighting both. Then I do the smallest next thing. One line. One task. One document opened.

You don't need to see the whole staircase. You need to take the next step, and tomorrow, take the one after. Just keep moving forward. It doesn't have to be fast. It just has to be forward.

So I'll ask you the question I'm asking myself: what's your one load-bearing thing this week, and what's the smallest step you can take toward it before you close this tab?

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Use the Writer's Desk or whatever to do and listing system you might use to keep track of things. As usual I'm building something to help with this.. The MindVault.

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Workflow Wednesday