All of the things I would rather be doing
I'm getting ready to write the Big Climax of my current WIP. I've solved one mystery. I've hinted at all sorts of things. Now I need to end it all with a bang. It's all there, most of the answers are in my head, I'm getting ready to tie up all those elements and bring in hordes of bad guys and ghosts and blood and guts and, oh, all sorts of wonders.
So, naturally, I'm wasting time on IMDB and doing lj memes and rereading Andrew Vachss novels for the millionth time.
When I was nearing the end of Personal Demons I went on a baking kick. I would think about writing, but then I would decide what we really needed in the house was a Victoria sponge with Nutella and fresh whipped cream (which was delicious, btw.) Or a chocolate sponge with raspberry jam and whipped cream (also quite yummy). Or cookies.
Then I decided instead of gaining weight cooking I should instead do some cleaning. The house sparkled for a week. I even washed my rice & flour canisters. I used toothpicks wrapped in cotton to clean grout. I washed cabinet shelves and used baby wipes to clean all the doors and doorframes.
I believe my body has joined me in my work avoidance this time. Even the flesh isn't willing. I have developed--I think--an ear infection, so I'm currently slightly deaf and in pain. So off I go in half an hour or so to the doctor, where hopefully they will be able to treat me. (When the hubs had bronchitis last year, the doctor said, and I quote, "You're a strong, healthy young man. Just give it some time, and come back if you start coughing up blood." So I sincerely hope I will not be sent home and told to come back if I go completely deaf.)
Oh yes. Anything nd everything becomes infinitely fascinating when you are getting ready to finish a project. Anything and everything that isn't actually finishing the project.
I suppose part of it could be the subconscious fear of rejection. If you never finish the book, you never have to submit the book. Another part, for me at least, is the knowledge that when the book is done you're going to have to read it and see if it's really any good yourself. And try to fix what's wrong, which means rewrites and tinkering and rpping the book apart and hoping it can be put back together. It means second-guessing yourself, second-guessing your characters--is that guy really as charming as you think, or just a dick? Is the heroine a strong, likeable woman with vulnerabilities, or is she just a sad sack bitch?
And the biggest one, the worse one, is when you finish the book you have to leave the world. No more. You can tinker and reread, but you have no idea if you'll ever be able to play with those people again. They're gone, they live on their own, not part of you anymore in the way they used to be. It's lonely and it's sad and it's strange, and I hate that bereft feeling.
But we must finish. If we don't finish, we'll never know if it's any good or not. We'll never have that accomplishment. We'll never be able to share that world with anyone else, and ultimately, isn't that what we want to do? Finishing a book separates the writers from the hobbyists, so if you want to be a writer you don't have a choice. Can't be a lawyer without passing the bar; can't be a writer without doing some of that pesky writing.
So I'm off to get moving. Um, before I go to the doctor, that is.
So, naturally, I'm wasting time on IMDB and doing lj memes and rereading Andrew Vachss novels for the millionth time.
When I was nearing the end of Personal Demons I went on a baking kick. I would think about writing, but then I would decide what we really needed in the house was a Victoria sponge with Nutella and fresh whipped cream (which was delicious, btw.) Or a chocolate sponge with raspberry jam and whipped cream (also quite yummy). Or cookies.
Then I decided instead of gaining weight cooking I should instead do some cleaning. The house sparkled for a week. I even washed my rice & flour canisters. I used toothpicks wrapped in cotton to clean grout. I washed cabinet shelves and used baby wipes to clean all the doors and doorframes.
I believe my body has joined me in my work avoidance this time. Even the flesh isn't willing. I have developed--I think--an ear infection, so I'm currently slightly deaf and in pain. So off I go in half an hour or so to the doctor, where hopefully they will be able to treat me. (When the hubs had bronchitis last year, the doctor said, and I quote, "You're a strong, healthy young man. Just give it some time, and come back if you start coughing up blood." So I sincerely hope I will not be sent home and told to come back if I go completely deaf.)
Oh yes. Anything nd everything becomes infinitely fascinating when you are getting ready to finish a project. Anything and everything that isn't actually finishing the project.
I suppose part of it could be the subconscious fear of rejection. If you never finish the book, you never have to submit the book. Another part, for me at least, is the knowledge that when the book is done you're going to have to read it and see if it's really any good yourself. And try to fix what's wrong, which means rewrites and tinkering and rpping the book apart and hoping it can be put back together. It means second-guessing yourself, second-guessing your characters--is that guy really as charming as you think, or just a dick? Is the heroine a strong, likeable woman with vulnerabilities, or is she just a sad sack bitch?
And the biggest one, the worse one, is when you finish the book you have to leave the world. No more. You can tinker and reread, but you have no idea if you'll ever be able to play with those people again. They're gone, they live on their own, not part of you anymore in the way they used to be. It's lonely and it's sad and it's strange, and I hate that bereft feeling.
But we must finish. If we don't finish, we'll never know if it's any good or not. We'll never have that accomplishment. We'll never be able to share that world with anyone else, and ultimately, isn't that what we want to do? Finishing a book separates the writers from the hobbyists, so if you want to be a writer you don't have a choice. Can't be a lawyer without passing the bar; can't be a writer without doing some of that pesky writing.
So I'm off to get moving. Um, before I go to the doctor, that is.
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