Gavin F. Hurley, author of The Playbook of Persuasive Reasoning; Twitter @Gavin_F_Hurley

I stand in a very dim—and a very tight—foyer along with nine other guests. It is around 2:00 PM on a sunny spring afternoon in Hartford, Connecticut, but the foyer stands as a fortress against the daylight. Assorted electric candles glow orange in metal holders on the walls. The original owner of the house—19th century literary legend Mark Twain, whose actual name was Samuel Clemens—had placed candles in the holders. But, I am visiting the house in 2015; therefore, the candles have been replaced with electric ones. The tour guide tells us that actual candles would have surely burned this place to the ground by now.

I get it. The walls are composed entirely of wood.

I study the ornate woodcut that covers the walls. The unique etchings crawl up the staircase banisters and bring my attention upward. As I stare up at the M.C. Escher-like flight of stairs, I wonder how such a fanciful man could focus enough to write such timeless American novels like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

I figure that his writing process must’ve also been pretty unique.

I speculated correctly.

At the top of the staircase on fourth floor, Samuel Clemens’ writing room invites me in. Illuminated by numerous windows, the room is much brighter than the foyer. The windows allowed Clemens to gaze out across acres of plush forest and fields. Since then, the view has disappeared. It has been replaced with urban Hartford: pavement, sidewalks, chain-link fences, and an apartment complex.

Curiously, a billiard table takes up much of the space of the writing room itself. It seems a bit out of place. After all, this is presumably a writing room, not a game room. Beyond the billiard table and across from the doorway, a large writing desk stands proud like a regal island. To the right of the writing desk, a second smaller desk rests wearily against a bare wall. A wall of wooden cubbies sits to the left.

The tour guide explains the arrangement. Clemens was easily distracted—probably a natural byproduct of his sprawling imagination. The writing room itself clearly fed that distraction. So, Clemens had to manage his space. He did not write at the Romantic “writing desk” that looked out to the beautiful landscape and enticing game table. The massive writing desk merely acted as an ornament, a prop for the stage. Instead, like a medieval monk, Sam wrote his novels at the humble weathered desk that faced the bare wall. The absence of visual temptation allowed him to more efficiently focus.

And what was the strange wooden unit of rows of square compartments on the left of the room? These wooden slots housed his drafts. Once he was tired of working on one novel—perhaps after an hour or two—he would return the draft to a slot, remove another, and work on another novel. This way, his enthusiasm remained fresh when drafting. This process also prevented him from boring of any single project. Again, he was self-aware—and managed his distractions accordingly.

Although Clemens was easily preoccupied, he didn’t allow it to control him. Rather, he channeled it as an advantage. He stared at a blank wall while working on numerous novels at the same time to optimize his workflow. And it seems to have worked. He penned a number of books. Twenty-eight, in fact.

Takeaways—

Samuel Clemens’s creativity seemed to meander and he was well aware of the distractions that surrounded him. But, he dealt with it. He didn’t change himself as much as he changed the conditions and arrangements around him to optimize personal workflow. He turned individual obstacles into advantages.

Standing in the very room that Samuel Clemens penned his classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn opened my eyes as a writer. Soon after I visited Twain’s house, I no longer wrote at a desk. I haven’t written at a desk in over four years. In fact, I haven’t written in an office in years either. I write on a laptop in my living room on my couch or at a coffee shop at a cozy nook.

Being spatially nimble helped me optimize my output. If I do not produce within a certain environment, I relocate. And maybe relocate again. And again. The freedom to plug into different places gives me freedom to adapt, rather than stagnantly force counterproductive behavior. Ultimately, environmental diversity can help naturally stoke productive enthusiasm.

As a writer, I’ve found that multi-tasking can also help foster this enthusiasm. I have always worked on several writing projects at a time. But, after I learned that Twain did it, I began to embrace it as an advantage rather than an obstacle. Now, I celebrate multi-tasking. I no longer accidentally do it. Rather, I purposefully do it. Instead of a wooden cubby system, I inundate my computer with writing projects in progress. Right now, eight Word document windows are currently open on my desktop. I work on a few documents each day, each for a couple hours.

In any occupation, we can invite distractions that do not relate to our projects. However, we are not required to order off of an “either/or” menu. We do not have to either focus on one project or not focus on any project at all. Instead, like Mark Twain, we can funnel our fragmented attention spans into numerous projects simultaneously. Such a workflow can fend off the burden of boredom by keeping things light and fresh.

In sum—

Time is too valuable to waste on inefficient workflow. Rather than desperately adopting “one size fits all” focus routines from business magazines or self-improvement books, we can merely experiment with different conditions and settings until we find what works the best for us. And, in doing so, we can innovate personalized workflow options.

 Now, “what works best for us” doesn’t necessarily mean finding the most comfortable conditions—such as lounging by a fireplace in a Swiss ski lodge or sipping Pina Coladas on a Caribbean beach. After all, Sam Clemens didn’t pick the most comfortable arrangement; he chose the most efficient arrangement. Like Sam, we can find the most efficient individual workflow that produces large quantities of high quality results. That may mean multi-tasking or not multi-tasking. That may mean working in a silent cubical or working in a bustling coffee shop. Once we become sensitive to personal workflow obstacles, we can maneuver with them and/or around them. This sensitivity can help streamline productivity and impassion the experience in a way that multiplies the quantity—and strengthens the quality—of our work.