Houston, We Have a Problem
March 12, 2001
7:33 a.m.
I tried. I really did. I've tried to just take my time and let this novel come out however it comes out. I've tried to just let it be, to just revel in the characters and to not get into counting words and all that. I've tried to not worry about production. I've tried to only focus on the work ... whatever that means. But you see, it's really just not working for me. The problem is that almost all the rest of the things in my life have deadlines. Work is deadline city, of course. Taxes: deadline. Take Brigid to school: deadline. You get those things, right? Of course, there are things without deadlines that still get done in my life, but that misses the point. My psyche works along the following guideline: If it has a deadline, it's more important than if it doesn't. What this means is that for the past two months, writing this novel has gotten thrown into the same bin as say, reading the paper. It's had the same priority as "go to the bookstore." It's had the same emotional baggage as "get the mail," or "rewrite the website" (which, I am, of course, doing again ... all I can say is this: expect frames). And so the book has been poking along, and I've been spending my "free" time talking to myself, and trying to convince myself that this is how it's supposed to be. However I'm convinced that I'm blowing smoke. This is not how I work. I need deadlines to keep myself focused. I need to keep myself focused in order to be immersed. I need to be immersed in order to feel the story. I need to feel the story in order to have fun. This is me. The tighter the deadline, the greater the focus. The greater the focus, the better the work. Yes, it's a general rule, not a statement of absolute fact. Hang with me here, folks. An unreasonable deadline makes for crappy work. But still. The fact of the matter is that I'm not enjoying this work. I'm not enjoying this novel. Simple as that. And the ultimate reason is that I'm not giving it the focus it needs in order to get myself totally immersed. Two months of effort and I cannot "feel" it. The characters are not real to me. The situations are not interesting enough. And I know it's not the story's fault. I know it's my fault. I know I'm not working hard enough. So ... I tried. I felt the "don't write so fast" pressure and I was tired from the constant strain of writing as hard as I can write, and I caved. It's great for some folks, I suppose. But I'm calling this method of working a formal failure for me. And I'm going back to the drawing board. Yes, folks. I'm thinking mini-Dare. Deep sigh. Concentrate. Smile. April. One month to finish one draft. I can already feel my blood rising.  Like we needed more proof that you're weird Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"This is rock and roll. It's not supposed to be too good." Tom Petty |
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