How to make the most of your deadline

At 9.10, the writer has six openings and no decision. At 11.40, there are nine openings, two biscuit wrappers and a sudden interest in reorganising the downloads folder.

Copy is due at one.

By 12.15, four openings have been killed. At 12.32, the argument finally fits into one sentence. At 12.51, the writer sends it with the exhilaration of somebody who has escaped a minor fire they started themselves.

This method occasionally produces excellent work. It also produces unchecked claims, exhausted collaborators and typos that become visible precisely three seconds after publication. The writer remembers the inspired escape; the designer remembers receiving final copy after the layout was meant to be finished.

So the next job gets three deadlines. A rough argument by the end of day one. A complete version two mornings later. Final copy after another two days. The first deadline forces a choice while revisions are still easy. The second gives another person time to ask the rude, useful question. The final one becomes boring.

The writer hates the arrangement at first. Panic had provided intensity and a flattering story about creativity under pressure. An early draft feels merely competent.

During the second review, the editor spots that the evidence supports a smaller claim than the headline. They fix it. Nobody gets purple-faced. There is still time for lunch, which feels suspiciously unlike genius.