I can feel the mixed metaphors coming on, and yep -- I think I'm about to experience a bad case of the clichés, too. At least, that's what happens when I start to think about writing, instead of just getting on with it. The query submitted to Hub Pages is a thorny can of worms, indeed. Or a can of thorny worms. We can all sympathize, because this thought has hit us all at one time or another, hasn't it? How to speed up your mind. No, wait -- the query was how to write faster. No, that wasn't it, either: it was how to increase speed of production without sacrificing quality. And since the writer making the request is widely published (I checked, and wow, this lady can write -- I nearly lost the nerve to reply, since I'm a novice here in Hub Pages), then I must conclude that the question is born from sheer bloody frustration at either a lack of time, or a lack of creative inspiration, or a lack of good typing skills.

I'll strike the last theory from the list, as it's downright silly these days. Incidentally, I was in a toy store last week, and found a colorful plastic laptop for toddlers. I forget who makes it, but the idea is this: the keyboard starts out being aimed at pre-schoolers, with shapes and colors being the focus, and then it grows with the kid's progress at school, adding letters and numbers as appropriate in order to train your tiny kids to type. We were taught the fine art at my high school, the music teacher doubling as a typing instructor, the machines being beautiful old black Imperials, ancient even then (Oh! the balance and weight on those keys!). Picture the scene: a classroom full of high school kids, all typing evenly in unison, being conducted by the music teacher who was literally keeping time for us like some permed metronome.

So the typing issue is out. That leaves lack of time and lack of inspiration. I'm omitting a full-blown case of writer's block, too, as this also does not appear to be the case. When do we find the time to write? (I almost wrote "where do we find the time," oops. I think there might be some in the dining room, Edith, behind the bookcase.) Yes, I have bookcases in my dining room -- also in my kitchen (and they're not recipe books, either; in my living room and bed rooms, and in the bathroom, too. Books sustain the heart and mind, and several of them are always down from the shelf and open at an interesting page. I don't read novels any more (long story, different Hub), so at the moment these are books on Shakespeare, art, philosophy, mental illness in Ireland, Renaissance religious iconography, and Calvin and Hobbes (the cartoons, not the people). I'll leave you to guess which ones are in which rooms.

A student in a drama workshop I was attending near the end of the last century once used the excuse for not producing the assignment as being a lack of time. "A writer writes," was all the professor said with stony stare. We all froze. But then, the professor was married, and so had someone around to cook, clean, and console him (that's a case of faulty parallels, isn't it? "To cook [him], clean [him], and console him"? Or can I get away with it?). Nah, ok, then: to cook for him, clean the house, and console him when the mail brought another one of those letters. It makes a difference, you know (having the spouse. Those letters make a difference too, but let's not dwell). And I don't just mean having a wife; having a husband can take the pressure off the writer, too, unless of course there are toddlers in the house who insist on, well, you know -- toddling. Once you have fed, bathed, and bedtime-story-ed a toddler or two (no, it shouldn't be "storied," should it? as I'm indicating that it's a noun being used as a verb?), it's nearly your own bedtime and you can't wait for it, you're so abslutely flat-out knackered.

Time is a slippery can of worms, then. Or a can of slippery worms. Procrastination can be a factor, too. It has always delighted me that the word "procrastinate" derives from "pro" and "cras" -- and that "cras" is the Latin for "tomorrow." For some reason I like the sound (actually, I don't like the sound of it, that's why it stuck in my head) of that. Crass. Who would want to go there? (It just sounds way too silly to say "Who would want to go when?" now, come on). That reminds me: don't you just hate it when people say "from whence" instead of just "whence"? It drives me bat-ass-crazy. I cringe when I hear it. There are no short cuts to good writing. Ideas should percolate, incubate, and then be produced when they are ready, and not before, and certainly not on someone else's deadline while you take the kids to the dental hygienist (that word does not look right, does it? But I checked the spelling, and that's it). And if you leave the ideas in there too long, in the warm, gray, easy-bake oven of the mind, without bringing them to fruition on the page, they tend to fester and lose their shiny appeal.

There are three little "moleskin" notebooks in my handbag -- the thinnest kind. I put "moleskin" in quotation marks because they have light (i.e. not heavy) card covers. Maybe they're called moleskin because they're black? Oh, I know, there's a little insert in each one telling the story (which I obviously forget) of the famous moleskin notebooks used by writers and artists everywhere, but I refuse to read it every time I open a new one. Like the loose subscription cards they insert into magazines, the little slip with the story is shaken into the trash can before pencil meets page. I carry three, because one has old notes and ideas, some of which I should revisit some time; one has current jottings, and one is for new stuff. I keep adding a new one and retiring the oldest as necessary. Different people use different means of herding stray ideas, from mini voice recorders that look like pens to having an amanuensis trailing around jotting down notes for them. You just have to experiment until you find which method suits you the most, and I'm sure the Hubber who made the query has tried a few and hopefully found one that works.

Conclusion? I hope someone else can come up with a good list of ways to increase productivity in the factory line of the professional writing process, such as having three articles on the go at once (one in the research stage, one being written, and one being edited and proofed). But the writer who asked the question in the first place will have already thought of and tried all the suggestions we might come up with, I'm sure. So I conclude that what is really being sought is sympathy and understanding for what someone (I forget who, does anyone remember?) referred to as the most difficult work there is that does not involve heavy lifting. And we can all share that sympathy. There are no short cuts, only short pencils.