I went to all the trouble of starting this site and getting it all nice and tidy (built up a nice banner in Visio, wrote a bio, quantified all of my goals, figured out how to link it to Facebook, etc.) because I wanted a way to keep myself accountable. My thinking was that if I spent a day doing nothing towards my goals, convincing myself--as I am so good at--that I have plenty of time to get all of this done and that tomorrow is just as good a day to get moving as would be today, I would have to come on here and write about what a lazy bastard I had been that day. This way I would guilt myself into actually doing something. Or at the very least, get hit square in the face with the concept that weeks--WEEKS!--were just passing by without any fiction being written, books read, or mountains climbed.
But, as it turns out, coming here and writing something everyday has become just another thing I am avoiding. I am hiding from my own self-discipline mechanism. I've lost a little over a month, I think, of just putting all of this off until tomorrow...or Monday...or next weekend. Yeah, once I get through this thing for work, I'll get going again. Or, wow Lost is on tonight, I can't possibly get anything done tonight. And then tomorrow is Thursday, major TV night. I should just call this week a loss and enjoy the weekend.
One thing I have been thinking a lot about lately is a moment I had during my trip to NYC last summer. On the second night of the conference, I walked back to my hotel to regroup and grab dinner (I was about three blocks away, near Penn Station). As I walked, I fell into one of those "cool writer moments" you tend to get from time to time.
There I was, walking the streets of Manhattan, the empire state building looming in the darkening sky behind me; my head swimming with advice and excitement gathered from a long day spent with agents and editors; the thrill of being in the city where fiction lives and breathes surrounding me. Everything felt so real and awesome. I swear for about a block my feet never touched the sidewalk.
But there was one problem...I hadn't earned the right to be there.
I can rationalize all I want, but I know the truth. My new book should have been ready to shop around that week. All of those editors and agents I was rubbing elbows with were opportunities to make something happen...but because I hadn't done the work, because I hadn't just sat my ass down and earned it, I was missing out. And despite how awesome that week was, in that moment a part of me felt like failure.
I don't want to feel like that again this year. Come May, I want to drive to New York with a fresh copy of my new book sitting on the seat beside me, done. Like done done. Not, oh I just need to rewrite the last half and it's good...but I can start sending it out. Not, okay, I ripped through it just to get it ready and it's not as good as it could be, but close enough. Not, yeah I just need to give it a really good proofread and we are set. DONE.
I want to earn the right to have my moment this year. And that means cutting the shit and getting serious about this again.
I am all out of tomorrows, I think...
