Fri, 18 Jul 2003
Written out
I guess I should have seen this coming.
The weather's broken but I'm still feeling totally unlike
working. Got a novella to re-write but trying to get to grips
with it is like re-heating last night's left over takeaway:
unappetizing and greasy. Also got a different novella to
collaborate on, but it's really hard to generate enthusiasm. As
for the original story I'm trying to write, don't get me
started. For about the first time in two years I am feeling
written out -- spectacularly so. The only thing holding me at
the keyboard is residual guilt in the face of the load of
work that is ever so slowly piling up as a backlog.
Luckily, nothing (except the collaboration, and I've got
someone else to keep prodding me over that) is urgent. I
should be able to take a week -- even a month -- off without
problems, as long as I get down to work again afterwards. But
the fear, what if I can't re-start when I come back
to it, keeps nagging at me,
keeping me sitting in front of the keyboard for an unproductive day of
worrying when I ought to be relaxing, taking some time off to get
my shit together. I
have a secret curse: the ancient Jewish work ethic rides me
like a goddamn vampire, sucking the pleasure out of lazing
around.
Be it resolved: tomorrow I am going to go out and enjoy myself
and go to a party in the evening and not write a word.
Life's too short for self-inflicted guilt trips, and
worrying that I won't be able to edit my
way through the second draft of a novella if I take a week off
once in a blue moon is, let's face it, bloody stupid.
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