March 17, 2009
If I’m not writing, I’m not happy. Correction: I’m not sane. It’s just the way my mind works. If I’m not telling some kind of story on paper, I get myself into trouble. Do stupid things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. Say dumb stuff I wouldn’t ordinarily say. If I don’t have that creative release, there’s some kind of bizarre psychological feedback that distorts my perceptions and responses. I don’t feel like myself.
Conversely, I sometimes develop a case of fatigue when I’m in the middle of a long project. Cranking out that Daily Grand can really wear me down, especially when my day job and home life are extra busy, and I have to squeeze extra hours out of the day to make my quota. I’ve got a bit of that fatigue right now, actually. Feeling weary, wishing I were done with my current novel, wishing I could spend more time reading or watching movies or going out and having fun. And yet, at the same time, I know if I had that time away from the novel, I’d only get wrapped around the axle again, caught up in the same old psychic feedback loop. I’d get all goofy and realize, as I always do, that I have no cotton-pickin’ choice and have to start a new project tout suite or lose my mind.
I also know this is a very worthwhile novel I’m working on right now, and I’m really looking forward to completing it properly. And the only way to do that is to keep on plugging away, day after day, word after word. Eating the elephant the only way I know how: one bite at a time.
Now for today’s travel photo. This is a shot of Wendy and me at Rockefeller Center in New York City from December 2002. That was a wonderful trip. We’re hoping to go back this summer for another visit…maybe even meet with some editors to pitch my great new novel when it’s done. See you tomorrow!
New York City, 2002
