I'm an e-mail junkie though I'm trying to read my in-box only twice a day and to answer all at once.
Basically, when I get home I just do emails for around three hours, which stinks. I have a thing about getting into your inbox every night before going to bed. I'm usually working from my laptop or my phone, desperately trying to get my inbox to zero before I fall asleep.
If you are working from your inbox, you are working on other people’s priorities.
Ironically, the more deliberate we are in our work - cranking through our inboxes, clearing our to-do lists - the more myopic we become.
I am definitely a keep-it-clean type of person when it comes to e-mail. My 'important' folder on the Gmail app is constantly clean. When a new e-mail comes in to my important folder, I immediately look at it and determine what action item comes with it. The action item may not get done until later, but at least I know it's coming.
At present I answer about 100 letters a month, and read 300 emails.
Email is a wonderful thing for people whose role in life is to be on top of things. But not for me; my role is to be on the bottom of things. What I do takes long hours of studying and uninterruptible concentration.
E-mails are the new herpes: You never get rid of them.
People spend an enormous amount of time in their inboxes, compulsively checking, and it's slow, distracting, and inefficient. It's almost a counterproductivity tool.
My inbox is the enemy.
I don't really have a place where people can reach me via email because it got a little overwhelming. People tweet things at me like, "oh DM me for a great story that you'll definitely need to use on the show," which I don't, you know, DM them.
Workers in government, the arts, and industry report that the sheer volume of email they receive is overwhelming, taking a huge bite out of their day. We feel obliged to answer our emails, but it seems impossible to do so and get anything else done.
The challenge of email is that people send you stuff for free, and it becomes items on your to-do list.
Leigh did what any sane female faced with such an e-mail would do: deleted it to resist the temptation of replying, cleared her trash to resist the temptation of recalling it, and then called tech support to restore all her recently deleted e-mails. (Chasing Harry Winston)
Replies began arriving seconds after he pressed send, and soon every single one of the warriors (besides William) had agreed to come home. Take me out of your address book, William
