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Rhythms of an editor's life
Sep. 12th, 2015 09:16 amOne of the things you notice (at least if you're paying attention) is how life falls into certain rhythms. The daily cycle from waking to sleeping is most obvious, and the annual cycle is most obvious in the turning of the seasons. But whether or not you've been paying attention, these and many other rhythms affect your work life, and that, in turn affects your "real" life outside of work. Rather than fighting these patterns, it's wiser to find out how to "go with the flow" and use them to your advantage.
For example, I have a very clear daily pattern. I usually have a mug of half-caffeinated coffee with breakfast, then once it's kickstarted my brain enough for me to be recognizably sentient, I go check e-mail, reply to the simple messages, and generally get my day's tasks sorted out. Then I indulge in a second mug of coffee to bring me up to full mental speed before I begin my real daily work. A single mug of full-caffeine coffee right at the start would arguably be more efficient, but I enjoy coffee for its own sake, not just as a performance-enhancing drug.
While my brain is coming up to speed, I focus on doing some of the more mechanical editorial tasks that don't require full sentience. These are things like responding to more challenging e-mails that actually require some thought and checking the literature citations and References section in the day's manuscript. Once I'm fully up to speed, I dive into the challenging work of figuring out what my author is trying to say and finding ways to help them say it. Mid-day, I'll go out for a walk to do any errands that need doing. Towards the end of the day, as my ability to concentrate wanes, I'll leave the computer and do some stretching exercises for half an hour -- kind of a moving meditation, without being anything as sophisticated as actual yoga or tai chi. Refreshed, I return to finish any remaining work, and when that's done, shut down the computer, go do aerobics or weights, and finish the day with Madame.
Understanding this rhythm in how my body works lets me match the nature of the work to the amount of sentience available for me to allocate to that work. During pre-sentient periods while I wait for the coffee to kick in, I get a lot of work done that doesn't require much in the way of brainpower; once the coffee is working, I focus on the work that requires focus. It would be a waste of time and effort to try accomplishing the really demanding stuff while my brain isn't up to the task, and a more serious waste of time doing low-brainpower work while my brain is working at peak efficiency. Accounting for how my brain and body work makes me far more efficient and effective than I would be if I tried to fight those rhythms.
Annual rhythms are more complex. Most of my editing clients are researchers, and pretty much all of them live in the northern hemisphere. So their work schedules are affected both by the same annual turn of the seasons I experience and (for university researchers) by the ebb and flow of the northern hemisphere school year. This pattern is further complicated by whether they work primarily in the lab (including on the computer or in the library) or in "the field" (i.e., outdoors somewhere).
Lab scientists are only weakly affected by the turn of the seasons. Instead, they are strongly affected by things such as the annual funding cycle. For example, if they've budgeted a certain amount of money for editing and publication of their research papers, they need to spend that money before the end of the fiscal year, and that annual budgetary period creates deadlines for their writing. My government authors tend to have a 1 April* start to their fiscal year, so I know they'll be doing their best to spend their remaining budget in February and March; that means they send me a ton of work at this time. Then there's a lull as they pause to catch their collective breath and resume the cycle. If they work at a university rather than a government or private institute, they also tend to try to finish their work before school starts (August and January) or after it ends (December and May) so that they aren't being distracted by their teaching requirements or the demands of their students.
* The irony of government budgets being determined by April Fool's Day does not escape me.
Field scientists are also constrained by the school year if they work for a university, but more importantly, are governed by the seasons. Because my work relates primarily to environmental and ecological subjects, they need to work during the time when their study subjects are alive and growing or moving around. Having done some field research myself, I'm also keenly aware that it's more fun being out in the field during clement summer weather than at -30C in the winter, and scientists being human, they tend to schedule their research for the summer even if it could (in theory) also be done during the winter. So summer is usually a lull period for them from a writing perspective, but they get quite busy once they return home in the fall (September onwards), with computers full of data to analyze. They also get quite busy in the month or two before they leave to begin the new season's field research -- peer reviews of a manuscript typically take months, so it's efficient to schedule those reviews while they're away from the office -- so March and April also tend to be quite busy.
Over time, I've learned that these patterns determine my work load at any given time of year. Knowing the patterns lets me take measures to even out the flow. For example, I send out a warning e-mail a couple months before the typical busy periods to tell everyone that they should reserve my time well in advance, or ideally send me work before the busy period begins. This lets me allocate the available time to each of them who's likely to need it and reduces the number of really long days when I need to work on two manuscripts simultaneously to meet client deadlines. Conversely, before predicted slow periods, I send out an e-mail suggesting that these periods would be a great time to work with me because they won't be competing with everyone else for my time. There are still, inevitably, heavy and light periods, but they're less heavy and less light than they might otherwise be. And I'm less stressed dealing with the heavy periods.
This proactive management of my schedule also lets me do things like arranging vacations during periods when my work load would ordinarily be lowest. That minimizes the amount of income I'd lose by not being available during a busy period, and equally importantly, minimizes the amount of work that arrives in the weeks before I leave and that accumulates while I'm away.
If you're a freelancer, I encourage you to do a similar analysis of your workflow and use the results to better manage your life. If you're an employee, the advice is equally valuable, but you'll have different busy periods; your company's budgeting period may use the calendar year rather than 1 April, the work of your colleagues may be governed by the annual schedule of important trade shows or government grant application periods, and so on. Learning these annual patterns is the first step in finding ways to control your work schedule -- or finding ways to go with the flow rather than fighting it.
For example, I have a very clear daily pattern. I usually have a mug of half-caffeinated coffee with breakfast, then once it's kickstarted my brain enough for me to be recognizably sentient, I go check e-mail, reply to the simple messages, and generally get my day's tasks sorted out. Then I indulge in a second mug of coffee to bring me up to full mental speed before I begin my real daily work. A single mug of full-caffeine coffee right at the start would arguably be more efficient, but I enjoy coffee for its own sake, not just as a performance-enhancing drug.
While my brain is coming up to speed, I focus on doing some of the more mechanical editorial tasks that don't require full sentience. These are things like responding to more challenging e-mails that actually require some thought and checking the literature citations and References section in the day's manuscript. Once I'm fully up to speed, I dive into the challenging work of figuring out what my author is trying to say and finding ways to help them say it. Mid-day, I'll go out for a walk to do any errands that need doing. Towards the end of the day, as my ability to concentrate wanes, I'll leave the computer and do some stretching exercises for half an hour -- kind of a moving meditation, without being anything as sophisticated as actual yoga or tai chi. Refreshed, I return to finish any remaining work, and when that's done, shut down the computer, go do aerobics or weights, and finish the day with Madame.
Understanding this rhythm in how my body works lets me match the nature of the work to the amount of sentience available for me to allocate to that work. During pre-sentient periods while I wait for the coffee to kick in, I get a lot of work done that doesn't require much in the way of brainpower; once the coffee is working, I focus on the work that requires focus. It would be a waste of time and effort to try accomplishing the really demanding stuff while my brain isn't up to the task, and a more serious waste of time doing low-brainpower work while my brain is working at peak efficiency. Accounting for how my brain and body work makes me far more efficient and effective than I would be if I tried to fight those rhythms.
Annual rhythms are more complex. Most of my editing clients are researchers, and pretty much all of them live in the northern hemisphere. So their work schedules are affected both by the same annual turn of the seasons I experience and (for university researchers) by the ebb and flow of the northern hemisphere school year. This pattern is further complicated by whether they work primarily in the lab (including on the computer or in the library) or in "the field" (i.e., outdoors somewhere).
Lab scientists are only weakly affected by the turn of the seasons. Instead, they are strongly affected by things such as the annual funding cycle. For example, if they've budgeted a certain amount of money for editing and publication of their research papers, they need to spend that money before the end of the fiscal year, and that annual budgetary period creates deadlines for their writing. My government authors tend to have a 1 April* start to their fiscal year, so I know they'll be doing their best to spend their remaining budget in February and March; that means they send me a ton of work at this time. Then there's a lull as they pause to catch their collective breath and resume the cycle. If they work at a university rather than a government or private institute, they also tend to try to finish their work before school starts (August and January) or after it ends (December and May) so that they aren't being distracted by their teaching requirements or the demands of their students.
* The irony of government budgets being determined by April Fool's Day does not escape me.
Field scientists are also constrained by the school year if they work for a university, but more importantly, are governed by the seasons. Because my work relates primarily to environmental and ecological subjects, they need to work during the time when their study subjects are alive and growing or moving around. Having done some field research myself, I'm also keenly aware that it's more fun being out in the field during clement summer weather than at -30C in the winter, and scientists being human, they tend to schedule their research for the summer even if it could (in theory) also be done during the winter. So summer is usually a lull period for them from a writing perspective, but they get quite busy once they return home in the fall (September onwards), with computers full of data to analyze. They also get quite busy in the month or two before they leave to begin the new season's field research -- peer reviews of a manuscript typically take months, so it's efficient to schedule those reviews while they're away from the office -- so March and April also tend to be quite busy.
Over time, I've learned that these patterns determine my work load at any given time of year. Knowing the patterns lets me take measures to even out the flow. For example, I send out a warning e-mail a couple months before the typical busy periods to tell everyone that they should reserve my time well in advance, or ideally send me work before the busy period begins. This lets me allocate the available time to each of them who's likely to need it and reduces the number of really long days when I need to work on two manuscripts simultaneously to meet client deadlines. Conversely, before predicted slow periods, I send out an e-mail suggesting that these periods would be a great time to work with me because they won't be competing with everyone else for my time. There are still, inevitably, heavy and light periods, but they're less heavy and less light than they might otherwise be. And I'm less stressed dealing with the heavy periods.
This proactive management of my schedule also lets me do things like arranging vacations during periods when my work load would ordinarily be lowest. That minimizes the amount of income I'd lose by not being available during a busy period, and equally importantly, minimizes the amount of work that arrives in the weeks before I leave and that accumulates while I'm away.
If you're a freelancer, I encourage you to do a similar analysis of your workflow and use the results to better manage your life. If you're an employee, the advice is equally valuable, but you'll have different busy periods; your company's budgeting period may use the calendar year rather than 1 April, the work of your colleagues may be governed by the annual schedule of important trade shows or government grant application periods, and so on. Learning these annual patterns is the first step in finding ways to control your work schedule -- or finding ways to go with the flow rather than fighting it.