I just finished my Quack, Quack Quilt, which means I had the pleasure of checking a project off my to-do list. Naturally, I celebrated by counting everything still on it.
Eight.
For the record, a “project in progress” means I’ve actually purchased the materials. Ideas alone don’t count. If they did, we would be here all afternoon.
In alphabetical order—because there should be some evidence of order in this operation—the remaining projects are the Bandelier Quilt, a Christmas present for my father-in-law; Fly Away, a traditional scrappy quilt with lots of flying geese; a jacket made from quilted scraps of The House That Love Built; practice binding-corner using a torn sheet; practice custom-quilting using more of that same torn king-sized sheet; striped shopping bags made from a practice piece of quilted fabric; Tree of Life, the wedding quilt that didn’t quite make it to the wedding; and the Ultimate Travel Bag, whose pattern and fabric I bought on impulse. Apparently, I was concerned I might run out of things to do.
Am I going to finish all eight? Yes. They may not finish in alphabetical order, but they will finish.
This is how I work. There’s rarely any downtime between projects because another one is always waiting. Sometimes I spend an entire day absorbed in one quilt. Other days, I number my projects and let a random number generator choose what I’ll work on for the next hour. When the hour ends, I generate another number and do it again.
Is this the most efficient system? Possibly not. I currently have the makings of eight projects scattered throughout my studio. But it works for me, and that counts for more than having a workspace that looks as though nobody ever uses it.
I have ADHD, inattentive type, and finishing projects hasn’t always been my strong suit. For years, I had quite a collection of boxes containing unfinished work. The boxes were beautifully organized, even when the rest of my life was topsy-turvy. I could tell you exactly where a project was. Whether I would finish it was another question.
Looking back, I can see how undiagnosed ADHD affected my school years. If a project interested me, I could do a stellar job. If it didn’t, getting to the finish line was a struggle. My grades were all over the place. I procrastinated, pulled all-nighters, and sometimes skipped school to avoid tests. I even managed to complete homework and then lose it or turn in a paper without my name. Doing the work and getting credit for it were apparently two separate assignments.
As an adult, I’ve learned ways to manage my ADHD. I’ve downsized and simplified my home and belongings to fit into less than 1,000 square feet. Fewer things mean fewer things to keep track of—although fabric continues to make a persuasive case for being an exception.
And I’ve made friends with the to-do list.
A list gets tasks out of my head and onto paper. Turning that list into a game helps me actually do them. Checking something off gives me a small, satisfying victory, and I’m happy to arrange as many of those as possible.
Choosing where to start can be harder for me than doing the task itself. That’s where chance comes in. A random number generator works, but so do dice, a spinner, or Post-it notes pulled from a basket. I’ve even considered putting the notes on a corkboard and throwing darts. That would certainly make housework more sporting.
The game has rules, though I reserve the right to invent them. A higher-priority task can appear on the list twice—or more—to improve its odds. Before drawing a number, I decide how long I’ll work. Sometimes it’s an hour. When I feel especially scattered, it might be five minutes. Five minutes is a manageable commitment, and it’s enough to get me moving.
If inspiration arrives, I usually let it stay past the timer. I’m not going to interrupt a productive visit from my muse just because the clock says it’s time to practice binding corners.
Then there are the times I slip into hyperfocus and the project absorbs my attention to the exclusion of almost everything else. This often happens near the end, when I can see the finish line. Suddenly, the quilt that has occupied a corner of the studio for months becomes the only thing I want to work on.
That’s how things get finished around here: a little structure, a little chance, and the occasional determined sprint toward the last stitch.
My system won’t suit everyone, but if choosing a task leaves you stalled before you even begin, you might enjoy giving it a try. Make a list, set a time, and let the dice decide. You can adjust the rules until the game works for you.
I’ve learned that I’m much more likely to get things done when there’s some fun involved.
One down, eight to go. Time to roll the dice.