So Wed-Friday of this week, I worked at home. It wasn’t a bad arrangement, because I had several writing-intensive projects on deadline and it’s easier to focus without the phone ringing or people dropping by or the million other distractions of being in the office proper. Plus, I had a cold, and isn’t it annoying when people bring their contagious malaise to their coworkers? Oh yes.
Anyhoo. This mundane-sounding experience revealed a horrible side effect: it turns out that working all day on work work in what is usually my creative space saps my desire to work on my creative work. It was as if my day job invaded what I think of as a personal space. The worst part, of course, was how I was complicit in the scenario. I designed it myself!
The other down side of working at home was the compulsion (perhaps spurred on by my inability to work on creative work) to labor on unfinished work projects late in to the evening, which is why I hammered away at a proposal until after nine Thursday night.
What I finally had to do was gather everything work related and purge it from my desk. I even dusted. Circumstances have kept me from working more on the short story I’m kicking around (circumstances = massive house projects). So it’s a good thing I already met my wordcount goal on the novel this week.