If you are someone who by choice or career has to or chooses to write stuff from time to time, can you relate to the following?
I can remember these stages as far back as writing high school papers, certainly college papers, then later in my life as I narrowed down my fundraising career to strictly grant proposal writing with a sideline of newsletter production.
It starts with avoidance and procrastination. (In fact, this very post constitutes avoidance of a newsletter writing assignment. Today is a holiday and the person over whose signature I’m writing this “message” is off today… so no phone calls or emails will be forthcoming from him. Maybe you are reading this board at this moment, because you are in the procrastination stage.) How long will it take me to do it when I finally force myself to sit down and do it? What’s the least amount of time I can allow myself? Depending on when the deadline is, this stage can go on for hours, days, or weeks. The *thing *is always hanging over my head, but I can avoid thinking about it if I binge on one more episode of *Corner Gas. *
The next stage when I finally sit down to write is exhilaration-- *“Oh my God–clear a space on the shelf for the Pulitzer that will surely be mine! This is the best idea anyone has ever had and the best writing anyone has ever done! Move over [del]Beethoven[/del] Shakespeare!” * Reaching that stage and the confidence that comes with it makes me sure I can knock out this piece of brilliance in much less time than I thought. Thus, I now have permission to watch one (or two) more episodes of *Corner Gas *(or something else).
Eventually, I’m feeling the time crunch, and so I have to sit back down and pick up the shining little gem that I left on my computer and that was going to write itself, only to find that when I give it a good look, IT. IS. CRAP. Dogshit. It’s an insult to dogshit to CALL it dogshit. As I feel the Vortex of Despair exerting its pull, I desperately want to give in, so I can just surrender to failure and disappear into Corner Gas forever.
But deadline. People expecting me to produce. Produce something good. Something they will want to sign their name to. So I squish through the dogshit and try to find something worth salvaging. And so far, in the last 50+ years that I’ve been doing this, there always is something. Something pretty darned workable. My muse puts me through hell, but she always comes through.
Now comes the real work of writing. And when I get to this point, I thoroughly enjoy it. I can lose myself in it. I don’t care about Corner Gas. I create something. I craft a message, an argument, a bit of beauty and inspiration (depending on the assignment). On time. And it’s good. I’ve never missed a deadline or even (in school) turned a paper in late in my life. I always come through.
But I can’t seem to skip those initial stages of misery, worry, self-flagellation, avoidance, and dogshit. It’s like a ritual offering to the Writing Gods. At least they haven’t asked me to sacrifice a goat (so far).
Okay, back to my project…