But before that, I could hear you asking:

“What about that one time when I wrote my best paper ever in just one night?”
“And what about that one time when I didn’t even think it was conceivable to complete the project in a very short period of time – yet I made it?”

Let’s address those two first, because these are indeed very tricky conundrums.

First off: obviously, exceptions happen. And yes, every now and then, on an off chance, the muse will kiss you at just the right moment, allowing you to deliver – just in time – a very, very good output, way above decent and only short of ingenious.

But here, there are two questions to ask:

First, if you're referring to this output as your “best paper,” you're begging the question: best compared to what? The unfortunate reality is that we will never be able to tell whether the output delivered under this tight timeline was indeed the best output you could deliver – or whether it was only the best output you could deliver within that time frame. It can be debated: if your ideas had been given enough time to ripen, and if you had devoted that project enough (not just barely enough) attention, the actual outcome could have gone way beyond your wildest expectations of yourself.

Furthermore, there are cases where the output is indeed produced in a very short period of time – however, it had been preceded by months or even years of careful planning, rumination, and reading. All in all, a very profound, deep work that had been going on in the background or sitting on a back burner. To stay faithful to our strawberry metaphor: the super-seeds were cultivated in the underground laboratory somewhere beneath the field, and then managed to grow into humongous fruit within a record period of time.

(On a side note, ironically enough, I most often hear this “the best work within one night” reference about some project carried out during university years. The anecdotal evidence that accompanies it usually hints that the project was of some level of complexity – but most often not the depth or detail that is required a few years down the professional or academic road.)

The second question, however, is even more interesting:
Is this a reliable strategy?

It certainly does have the flair, the beauty, the rush, and the excitement of the “the doors are closing” effect. (In our case: strawberries are turning into pumpkins.) This is a marvelous exercise to train your focus. It's a great opportunity to test your boundaries, to extend and expand them – and to see that you are actually capable of more than you thought you could deliver.

However… would you like to bet on it?
Something tells me: probably not.

Thus, I would recommend being very choosy when it comes to your guinea pigs.
Testing your boundaries on the most important project of your life, or the final deliverable of a crucial project, or on something that is very dear to a client’s heart – is a recipe for catastrophe.
(OK, probably not – but at any rate, it’s a very risky venture, and you need to be very mindful of it.)

But taking little endeavors every now and then in fields where the risk is limited and the upside is not – that’s a great way to suddenly realize that you have outgrown yourself. Or that you can do hard things.

At the same time, when it comes to developing concepts – when it comes to trying to uncover layers that are far beneath the surface – when you are not so much planting strawberries but rather trying to uncover the long-lost Atlantis – I would definitely recommend allowing yourself plenty of time.

Time to think and ponder.
To let your ideas cruise.
To let yourself go with the flow – not only for the quality of the outcome, but also for the joy of the process, and the pleasure that this kind of intellectual work can give you.

And with that, the harvesting of those fruits of your hard labor – and the delight of the project – will have the truly intense flavor of sun-loaded strawberries, with sprinkles of a meadow dew, on a beautiful Monday morning.