Greatness in a rotten year
Sometimes we’re focused on the wrong goals.
Sometimes we’re focused on the wrong goals.
When you corner someone to enthuse about your latest writing project, your victim’s first question is likely to be, “what’s your story about?”
I hate unfinished projects. They whisper nagging words in my ears and poke me in the ribs when I try to relax.
If you are a writer, you know that a big project can get under your skin. When it’s not going well, it becomes a niggling obsession. Even if you never develop it past the first draft, you are still driven to finish it, because writers are disciplined people. Your characters are only half-drawn. They stand naked and alone, and if you don’t dress them, no one will.
I received an email from an editor a little while ago. She said the piece I submitted “holds promise,” and/or “has merit,” but she didn’t think it was quite right for her publication at this time.
This is a reminder that it’s not too late.
Remember the minutes, the hours and the days will pass whether you do “that thing” or not. It is the moment by moment choices we make that move us forward.
One can never underestimate the self-sabotaging power of procrastination. I spent four days this week at a remote retreat center near St. Martins, New Brunswick called In the Stillness (www.inthestillness.ca) because I wanted time to jumpstart a special project. I whined about needing a place with no interruptions and no distractions. No stifling, familiar surroundings, no domestic duties.
In April this year, during Frye, the popular annual literary festival in Moncton, New Brunswick, I attended a workshop called “Writing for Comedy.” The speaker was Randy Pearlstein, a Toronto native who now lives and works in New York City.
Dressed in jeans, blazer and blue Nike skater shoes, he looked like an updated version of Jerry Seinfeld. (Who, by the way, Pearlstein quipped, is “a bit of a dick.” Let’s hope the six readers of my blog don’t tell Jerry that Randy dissed him.)
Peter Pan was right. To grow up is to be in danger of forgetting the lessons of childhood.
Case in point: A few years ago, when my oldest child was 10, she presented me with one of her school essays.