Making Progress Versus Making a Mess
I confess that I am one of those people that literally loathes schedules. My mother is sort of a martinet when it comes to scheduling, and bless her heart for it, ran my household with an iron alarm clock while I was growing up. As a result, I decided to reinvent the wheel when I came of age and I shun scheduling. Perhaps a bit too much, I’ve come to wonder, now that I’ve had kids and all the responsibilities that come with them.
As a result, I tend to write in fits and starts. Or rather, make progress on writing-related activities in a manner of activity better suited for making half a bundt cake disappear in one sitting. When the glut is long enough to get me from start to finish, this can be a good thing–I sit down, fork in hand, cake plate in front of me, and devour a whole story’s worth of cake in one protracted binge of writing. I have the same taste for cake, the same “tone” at the end of the story as I did at the start, and I’m left exhausted, bloated, but with a complete story. And also really glad it’s a story and not a cake for reals, otherwise I’d be in a sugar-coma and have guilty cake crumbs all over the place. But, as after the cake-binge, there comes regret. I look at the disaster that is my house and despair the same way I’d look at that empty cake plate and feel the guilt over the binge lodge right down there in the ol’ upper-GI tract.
So to break the cycle, I’ve adopted a schedule. I never thought I’d do it (I’m no slave to the calendar, maaaan!). I still have a hard time conceiving of the logic of actually stopping writing when I feel like I’m on a roll. But I do it. Lots of writers set goals for themselves and then stop at those goals no matter what. And you know what? I’ve found out it works, sorta.
Some writers set themselves page goals or time goals–and when they’ve reached their goal, they stop. Flat-out, no ands ifs or buts. I can’t be one of those people that stops in mid-sentence if I’ve hit ten minutes or 2 pages. Since I usually use scenes to mark time and progress, I’m pretty much insured against the need to do so. But it doesn’t prevent me from reaching that goal and realizing that yeah, I’d like to write more, or keep going on this one wound. And wouldn’t you know it, that feeling seems to follow me from day to day. I’m making real progress, instead of just vomiting up a brain mess. And that’s hella better than cake. Even half a bundt cake in one sitting.
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