Tag Archives: priorities

Managing Phone Time

“Call me anytime.”
“Use my cell, I always have it with me.”
“I’ll be home, give me a call.”
Phrases I hear all the time, but know aren’t true. The phone has become a casual piece of entertainment to most people, but it’s the chief way I communicate with clients. I finally purchased an unlimited minutes cellphone plan, not because I love yakking, but because my cellphone is my business phone.

images-1.jpegIf you own your business your phone is your marketing system, lifeline, communication tool. If you are like me, at the end of the day, you don’t want to talk anymore. Your ear hurts. But other people have a different view. Many people believe that if you own your business you have lots of free time. So it doesn’t matter when they call.

As a writer, and a developer of writing training programs, I have deadlines. And I need to schedule. Because I am also a life- and creativity coach, I have to set times and guidelines. When someone says, “give me a call anytime tonight,” my reply is never “OK,” my reply is “How about 7?”

Often the answer is “Whenever,” but that won’t do. I have a West Coast conference call at 6:30 p.m. It has a firm beginning and end. At 7:30, I have a coaching call, for a client that doesn’t want to talk at work. So my available time is 7 to 7:30. It’s hard to explain this to people who go to work and come home at regular times, and once they are home they are free to choose their schedule.

“Sure, call me at 7″ they answer, but when I call, they are on the phone. I leave a message and start to prepare for my next call. That means taking care of physical needs (drinking water or putting it back), or standing up and stretching, looking up something, making a note so I won’t forget.

The phone rings and it’s my friend. “Geez, you are so prompt. I was talking to. . .” I look at the clock. Five minutes to the coaching call.
“What’s up?” I interrupt.
“I thought we’d talk about that meeting we’re going to.” I know this is a long talk, involving content planning and who will drive and where we’ll eat.
“I can drive, and you can choose the restaurant,” I say, now at 3 minutes left.
“What do you want to do your presentation on?”
“I thought I’d do it on communicating with people you like and know, but don’t have time for,” I say, thinking this is a topic I’m an expert at.
“OK, so let’s talk.”
“I can’t. I have a call. I can talk tomorrow at 2 or at 5. Which is better?”
“Oh, call me anytime tomorrow. I’ll be home all day.”

When you own your own business, time is a currency that needs to be budgeted and counted. To those who see time as a space to be filled, the geometry of talking doesn’t match with the neatly packed rolls of quarter-hours to be doled out.

–Image: http://www.infowit.com

–Quinn McDonald is a writer and creativity coach. She watches the clock, and tries to explain the measurement system to others, often without success. See her work at QuinnCreative.com (c) 2008. All rights reserved.

Chasing the Muse

The studio is breezy, crisp as January sings
Papers drift, display their wares to see what muse might bring.
Clients work delivered, banking balances done
So I can have the afternoon to let the muses run.
The evening is promised to the husband who complains
that we don’t see each other often when others pick my brains
or soul or heart or fingers worn down to the bone.
He needs some real attention, he’s been too long alone.

muse_again_copy.jpegI have all day! The studio calls, but then the cats begin

they want their food, the litter scooped, and then the doorbell rings.
The postman wants a signature, and when I turn to go
downstairs, I sneeze, and the top pant button blows.
I sew it up, and while I have the needle and the thread,
I might as well sew up the cuffs on the pants left on the bed.
The postman left a package, Lizzy sent the jacket
to try and get some feedback, so I unwrap the packet.
And type up notes to send her, she works hard at her art
I can’t just leave her hanging, so I finish what I start.

Now, back to work, chasing the muse, she waits downstairs for me.
On my way down, I take the wash, my arms just can’t stay free.
I sort the clothes, the machine churns, the suds are getting clean
the clothing, but the towels, too, need their turn in the machine.
Upstairs I go and fetch the towels and throw rugs while I’m there,
Bring them down and pile them up, and now, it’s my time’s share.

I pull the stool, and flare the sheet of handmade paper crisp
I sigh with pleasure at the feel, but sniff a smoky wisp.
The brownies I’ve been timing for my spouse while he’s out shopping
are burning in the oven, timer’s ring too soft to get me hopping.
Quick, before he comes back home, whip up another batch,
The ones I burned were walnut, these are plain, but will he catch
this slip? Maybe not, but I want time, the clock says almost four
I slide downstairs and just ignore the crumbs left on the floor.

You know the rest, you’ve been there too, I never find the muse
The truth is: those distractions are things I, distracted, choose.
Because my art is silent, its voice echoes from mine
And it won’t speak until I stand, claim my voice and my own time.

–Image:http://images.elfwood.com/art/e/d/eduffy/muse_again_copy.jpeg

* * *(c) Quinn McDonald, 2007-8 all rights reserved. Quinn is an artist and writer, certified creativity coach and cat owner. See her work at QuinnCreative.com