Pomodoro and Flow

I’m sure its the same with any creative job:

Some find incredible freedom in the blank page while others find terror.

I lean heavily towards the latter.

Editing for me, is its most arduous and draining in the first pass; when the timeline is empty and the dailies bin is full. I watch a few takes, compare them to the continuity notes or director’s comments, and then watch a few more. I think I’m getting an idea of how the scene could start. But I feel compelled to watch all the dailies, lest I build off the wrong foundation. But a few minutes after finishing the “watch down” and I’m immediately stuck….What’s the first move?

Analysis Paralysis

Throughout my years as an editor, I’ve found that this basic script plays over and over again, anytime I jump into a scene.

“Let’s just use the wide to start the scene. Can’t go wrong with the classic?”

“Oh, but no, look at this amazing frame in Shot 6 Take 3 - how fun would it be to open the scene on the closeup of the clue? Of course! Use that. “

“Nevermind - that doesn’t cut back to the wide establisher at all; the blocking has become wildly different as the director and talent really got into the rhythm of the scene and moved onto their closeups.”

“Whatever, just throw it down on the timeline and come back to it”

Some might argue that watching/considering/trying every possible option makes for a thorough editor - that I have considered all paths to construct the puzzle. But, given that the typical 2.5 page scene in a television project - which should be roughly 2.5 minutes once edited - gives on average 60 minutes worth of coverage to work with…there’s no way I’ve actually tried every permutation. So, while a nice thought and certainly the mindset behind watching all raw footage, it’s simply not feasible with the schedules we are working within.

This leads to what I believe is my greatest weakness as an editor. I get overwhelmed looking at that scene bin. And I waste a ton of time ruminating on those first few moves and restarting the assembly 3 or 4 cuts in.

Sure, once I have a skeleton - or a few select moments (or even just a single anchoring shot) - I can build off the momentum. And at somepoint soon I hopefully find myself in that coveted ‘flow’ state of mind; the one where you editing a scene for what feels like only a few minutes, only took look up and realize 4 hours have flown by.

So the question I’m trying to answer right now is:

How do I skip this painstaking trudge through the mud, where I’m just absorbing/considering/procrastinating the first choices, and get to the ‘fun’ part of editing?

I’m learning the answer requires a few bits of wisdom

1) that trudge is, like it or not, a crucial part of the process. But! The more experience I get under my belt, the faster I’ll be able to discern what’s going to work together. Simply put, it’s muscle-training.

2) Keeping cutting until I can find an ‘anchor’ for the sequence.

2b) Don’t lose focus until you find that anchor. You can give your brain the creative break after you do.

This is all easy to type out, but was really difficult for me to put into practice. Often I felt frozen in trying to make the correct first choices. Frustrated, I jump online, catchup on social media, and read articles (even about editing, to mask my procrastination). Then I’d jump back to the edit and try a few more options before giving up. Before long, guilt would begin creeping in as I watched the day’s work hours slip through my fingers with nothing to show for it.

Maybe this all means I’m a terrible editor. Or that I’m a lazy worker.

But what helped was breaking my time into smaller chunks.. I turned to a study/work solution that apparently 7.9 billion other people already know about. The Pomodoro Technique.

The Pomodoro Technique

If you don’t already know it, here it is in a nutshell:

  1. Figure out what your task is.

  2. Set a timer for 25 minutes.

  3. Work on just that task until the timer dings.

  4. Once the timer is up, enjoy a short 5 minute break

  5. Repeat from step 2.

  6. After x amounts of repeats (I’d say 5), enjoy a long 30 minute break.

Why does this work? I think 25 minutes is just long enough to get into a task to make decent progress on it, but short enough that I my brain will understand it will get a ‘break’ soon.

Put more simply - it places a timer on my work, so that I feel compelled to get it done. This is especially true when I’m unsure of the best take to use; putting the timer on my choices means i’m forced to commit to one for now. I’ve found usually by the 3rd 25-minute interval, I have a decent assembly coming together and momentum building, and in the best cases, I’ve fallen unknowingly into the flow state, where I’m excited to be editing and coming up with ideas.

-

P.S. Thoughts on Remote Working & Work-Life Balance

While editing has always been a joyful slog, I think the pandemic has exacerbated some less-than-ideal developments. In addition to the already unhealthy timelines that productions place on its crews, not ‘leaving’ the office for the day means you’re more likely to keep working long hours from home.

This tendency, compounded with my drained focus, means I’m sitting at computer desk for 12-14 hours a day. That’s absurd. There’s no need for any of these sort of expecations, nor is it productive; my final hours of the work day are not my most creative.

My current goal is to edit for 8-9 hours a day max. I aim to get myself fast enough to (mostly) hit my targets for the day in that block of time, and then be ‘out of reach’ for the rest of the day. And I don’t want any Assistant Editors on my team to be working longer than that either.

Here, in the fall of 2021, I wait in anticipation for how the members of IATSE in our neighbours to the south decide to vote on their potential deal. I hope they push for a healtheir work-life balance. When the fight comes north of the border, I know how I’ll be using my voice.

Previous
Previous

Make the Jump to Editor

Next
Next

Caught In A Loop