Writing (in) blocks

I'm writing this summer on a wide range of projects, which means writing for a substantial period every day. That said, I recently took a bit more than a full week away from the keyboard, doing no writing at all (not even email) except for few (handwritten) sentences each day. In their delightful piece in Nature on turbocharging your writing (free), Maria Gardiner and Hugh Kearns point out that "binge writing" — writing on the rare occasions when you have huge blocks of time — is generally not as effective as "snack writing" writing often (nearly every day) for shorter periods. (In my life it can be a challenge in some weeks to find an uninterupted 45 minutes or hour each day.)

Gardiner and Kearns note the barrier to writing again when it's been a long time since you last sat down to write can be huge. I won't argue with that. As I sat down this weekend to work on a 500-600 word column due this morning (at the latest!) after my week off, I could feel the creaks and groans. Really, 500 publishable words? How about I warm up with a blog post or write a couple of emails? Fortunately, deadlines are great motivators, especially those that are hard and fast as this one is (the paper goes to bed on Tuesdays, with or without my column). The piece went off this morning, and I'm ready to really dig into a couple of project tomorrow morning.

I would add to Gardiner and Kearns good advice that interruptions — those that knock at your door and your own desktop temptations — are a real hazard. Silence the phone, close the email browser, barricade the door (necessary in my house, the cat opens it otherwise), tell students/colleagues/kids that you cannot be disturbed for anything short of (fill in your favorite catastrophe here). Some research suggests that each interruption costs 5 to 10 minutes of time to refocus on the task at hand (plus whatever time it took to deal with the situation that led to the interruption). If you only have 45 minutes to write, and are interrupted twice, you may have lost nearly half your writing time.

If you want more advice about writing for the professional science journal, join me on Thursday, July 14 for a one hour conversation I'm moderating for the American Chemical Soceity with Dr. Cynthia Burrows (senior editor at Journal of Organic Chemistry) and Dr. George Schatz (editor in chief of Journal of Physical Chemistry.) More details are here. They are taking questions live, so sign up (it's free, but you need to register) and ask away.

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Photo is by Brandi Korte. Used under Creative Commons license.

Word Wraps: From the ACS meeting

I am at the ACS meeting in Washington DC, here as "press" rather than chemist. It's a very different way to see the meeting. I went to a press briefing this morning - on the first phases of development of aresol vaccines for measles (Robert Sievers). The press center is tucked away next to the registration, and has everything a writer might want: food, wireless access and a steady stream of caffeine and conversation.

The briefings are being streamed live on the web and journalists watching can send their questions in to be asked. Miss something the first time round? Watch the replay here.

Listening as a scientist to a talk, and as a writer to the briefing turn out to be slightly different experiences. Both require critical listening, but listening as a writer prompts me to think far more about the words the science is coming wrapped in. The shorthand scientists use sounds almost staccato in this context. "Measles naive" instead of "never exposed to the measles virus" or "no evidence of viremia" instead of "no measurable virus in the bloodstream".

We try to be both precise and concise, but I wonder how often the combination in giving a talk, or even reading a paper in the literature leads to attentional processing deficits? An interesting experiment in attentional processing is to present subjects with a rapidly changing sequences of letter, interspersed with numbers. If two numbers are placed too close together, subjects can "miss" the second letter while their brain is busy processing the first. Pack too much into a sentence, and your "subjects" might miss bits.

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My Thesis column in Nature Chemistry this month, Stretching Toplogy, takes a slightly different tack in thinking about the ways words wrap around science.

Concentrated Chemistry: American Chemical Society National Meeting

The American Chemical Society national meeting is on in New Orleans this week. Somewhere on the order of 10,000 chemists will be here for at least some of the week - it's noticeable on the streets to be sure.

The Nature Chemistry group win the prize for most challenging travel. Read the teaser at the Sceptical Chymist - and place your bet on whether United Airlines will get them home again. A road trip to London isn't going to be the solution to return travel woes (unless that Bering Strait tunnel project gets off the drawing board much sooner than anticipated...).

The ACS has an oral history project going...and I'm signed up to be videotaped this afternoon.

My favorite t-shirt seen at the meeting: The name's Bond. Ionic bond. Taken, not shared.

Indolent Molecules

I heard a colleague talk today at the MidAtlantic Regional Meeting of the ACS about his work with fluoroquinones. These molecules (which despite their name contain no fluorine) fluoresce, that is they "glow" when exposed to light. The process can be short circuited by binding another molecule, a quencher, to fluoroquinone. The research discussed the quenching behavior of tryptophan. Tryptophan is an amino acid, one of the building blocks of proteins. Structurally, it's an indole; an aromatic six-membered ring fused to a five-membered ring containing a nitrogen forms the core.
Tryptophan is thought to induce sleep - and is often blamed for post-Thanksgiving meal naps. Melatonin, which also play a role in sleep regulation, is also an indole.

The indoles of chemistry get their name from the Latin for indigo, the dye from which the basic indole structure was first isolated. The indolence which some indoles induce has a different etymological root, dolorens - grief or pain.