This blog has been an interesting undertaking for me on many levels, but particularly in the realm of commitment. I’ve done my best to meet my goal of posting every Tuesday. For the same reason, I take a weekly writing class. I know I have to bring something each Tuesday, 1000 of the best, shiniest words I can produce. Again, the deadline is a casual one. My teacher, Gail, doesn’t expect us to bring something each week. But I expect myself to produce.
There’s a reason for this. I know myself. If I don’t keep moving forward, I’ll slide down the slippery slope of procrastination. I remind myself that, if I had an editor or agent, they’d expect me to be professional and meet the deadlines I’d committed to. And, even better, if I had a throng of adoring readers, I’d need to produce something or risk disappointing the very people I write for. If I disappointed them, I know I’d really be disappointing myself.
My problem lies with having a foot in each of two camps. On the one hand, developing the ability to meet deadlines shows real professionalism. But on the other hand, having no real deadline is a luxury. Like a pampered cat, I have the freedom to rise from my napping place at whim to lap only the richest cream.
The thing is--I don’t believe this works. I’m a person who needs deadlines or I just don’t write. And if I don’t write, my muse gets fat and lazy, wanting to do nothing but watch reality shows and the Food Network. No pressure means nothing to show for myself. In the end, it means watching opportunity pass me by. So I heap on the deadlines. And I bust my butt to meet them. It’s by these baby steps that I move slowly forward.
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