hare envy
I wasn't going to do a post--thought, "Aw, to hell with it." I helped Kimmie and Robin ferry a few boxes and shelves from their cars up to Robin's bedroom and bathroom, then, when they went to get more, I made myself tea and read Rubicon.
But after finishing my tea I felt a bit bad: a certain sense of responsibility to my readers, few as they may be. What can I tell you?
Thick, rain-bearing clouds have again moved in, blotting out the morning sunshine. I spent my writing time working on the estate spreadsheet, solving a couple of problems and arriving at what I think is the final problem: an outstanding difference of $400.71. When we track that down, the spreadsheet will cinch into balance and the great task of data entry and calculation will be all but done.
But I felt an underlying guilt, because I secretly wanted to avoid my project. It's as though I can't bear to open it up and witness my own slowness. As though the tortoise, disgusted with his pace, takes a break so he doesn't have to watch the lumbering movements of his own legs. He starts acting like the hare. I think that's me.
This is not a mature approach. Projects don't get completed through inaction. Guilt and anxiety start to build, feelings of helplessness. Maybe it's a kind of fatigue: I'm tired of it. Even my research is slowing up. The zeal I felt a couple-three months ago is largely gone; now there's something dogged about it. It feels like it's taking forever to read Rubicon, even though I really like the book. It proceeds with a dreamlike slow-motion quality.
I'm plodding. Or rather, I've taken a break from plodding, which means I'm at a dead stop. I'm 34% of the way through my draft. If I were crossing the Pacific Ocean in a kayak, this would mean that I'm about 3,700 miles out. A new kind of gumption is called for here. What am I made of?
The hare at least gets the feeling of speed and progress, sometimes.
But after finishing my tea I felt a bit bad: a certain sense of responsibility to my readers, few as they may be. What can I tell you?
Thick, rain-bearing clouds have again moved in, blotting out the morning sunshine. I spent my writing time working on the estate spreadsheet, solving a couple of problems and arriving at what I think is the final problem: an outstanding difference of $400.71. When we track that down, the spreadsheet will cinch into balance and the great task of data entry and calculation will be all but done.
But I felt an underlying guilt, because I secretly wanted to avoid my project. It's as though I can't bear to open it up and witness my own slowness. As though the tortoise, disgusted with his pace, takes a break so he doesn't have to watch the lumbering movements of his own legs. He starts acting like the hare. I think that's me.
This is not a mature approach. Projects don't get completed through inaction. Guilt and anxiety start to build, feelings of helplessness. Maybe it's a kind of fatigue: I'm tired of it. Even my research is slowing up. The zeal I felt a couple-three months ago is largely gone; now there's something dogged about it. It feels like it's taking forever to read Rubicon, even though I really like the book. It proceeds with a dreamlike slow-motion quality.
I'm plodding. Or rather, I've taken a break from plodding, which means I'm at a dead stop. I'm 34% of the way through my draft. If I were crossing the Pacific Ocean in a kayak, this would mean that I'm about 3,700 miles out. A new kind of gumption is called for here. What am I made of?
The hare at least gets the feeling of speed and progress, sometimes.
posted by paulv at
5:37 PM
1 Comments:
I can relate, but y'know, you're going to have those "moments" during a long complex writing project. The trick is to recognize them as temporary sloughs and not let them defeat you completely! Go ahead...amble...you'll be back to the sprint soon enough. D:))
By
Debra Young, at June 27, 2005 8:37 AM
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