Here’s my problem. I am terribly, terribly fickle when it comes to my work. I love a fresh, new project, all open and free of tricky bits, nothing but potential ahead of me.
I dig in. I get to know it. We progress to a first name basis. It starts to tell me its troubles and my mind wanders, only a little. Ideas start to form, sparkly ideas, ideas that must be better than my current, worn-in project. Maybe I can give the new new project a little bit of time, a small chunk carved out of my day.
Old project? What old project?
It might be a symptom of my intractable procrastination disease, or maybe it’s evidence of a fruit-fly sized attention span, which I may or may not possess. Regardless, it’s easy, no matter what the project, in those beginning, glowy stages, to forget that writing is work. Hard, sometimes tedious work. It’s not always fun, it’s not always fulfilling, but there is no way to complete a project other than plowing through it.
I’m working on learning how to balance my ideas, the shiny ones and the ones that have entered the trudging realm of edits, and the myriad of work in-between. On the plus side, at some point, I’ll suddenly have a bucketful of finished stuff.
On the minus side, it will only get that way if I finish it.
Need something to read? Check out Her Cousin Much Removed, The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management and Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only) .