Stupid deadlines. Why am I always smashed up against them, my face pressed against the deadline glass, an unseen force behind me, pushing and pushing until I either burst through the deadline and emerge victorious, or get crushed trying to break through?
This happens every. single. book. And it’s all me. I used to think it was because I wasn’t giving myself enough time to do the books when I was contracted to do them. But then I changed some deadlines around and it didn’t seem to matter, I still got caught by the deadline. Then, I thought it was family life intervening. But recently, I had a few days of no one in the house, and guess what? Not one iota more productive than when they are here. It’s me! I am one of those people who do enough to kid myself into thinking that I’m really working hard on a book for a few months, and then, inevitably, I find myself up against that blasted deadline and I really do have family commitments, and I really don’t have enough hours in the day. I did have enough hours back in the beginning, but I squandered them.
I dream of writing a book in the manner I believe all great, successful writers write them…I get up in the morning, take my luscious coffee drink into my lush garden with roses and honeysuckle. Oh, and it’s not hot. And there are no bugs. I have a pen and paper and I sketch out a brilliantly-charged scene as I sip my coffee. Then, I go to my computer, flex my fingers, and…I create. Words fly from my fingertips. Analogies and the beautiful turn of phrase, which I am known for in all the great literary circles, emerge effortlessly. The scene thrums with emotion, conveyed to the reader in small but meaningful ways, in a few, but meaningful words. I meet my deadlines. In fact, I am early, and take some well deserved time off.
But that’s not how it goes for me. I finally make it to my office, sort through email, social media, write a blog here and there, then finally, finally, pull out the WIP. But wait…I squint at the screen. I have no idea why I wrote that yesterday. What the hell was I talking about? And how many times, exactly, is that character going to glance at the other one? Didn’t I already cover this paragraph earlier in the book? I Did I? I can’t remember. And what is the color of her eyes–did I make them blue? Or green? And what was that great idea I had, that great snippet of dialogue I thought of yesterday? I wish I would learn to write these things down, but noooo……
SIGH. It never fails. I think I am destined to be the writer who is smashed up against her deadline. If I can’t change it, I am going to whine about it.
What about you? Do you meet your deadlines with ease? Do you find yourself cramming most of the writing into the last month? Do you have a beautiful garden where you sit to gather your thoughts?
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{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
Boy, not me. My coffee is always the perfect temperature for planning scenes. I sent on my breezy back porch and ponder the perfect story structure, take a quick swim, then go back inside and write while the kids behave perfectly, letting me get exactly what I need done. The pages never need editing, so it’s easy to just move forward the next day, and when I don’t feel like actually typing, I dictate to my gorgeous, male assistant who doubles as the pool guy, and he types it in for me.
Man, I feel for you guys, tho…….
HAHAHAHAAAA!
Yeah, that’s pretty much how I always pictured the life of a writer.
So THAT’s who that guy was!
YOu just described me to a tee. At this very moment in fact. I have no garden, only a tiny tomato on the tiny terrace. There are no birds singing and no declicous coffee drinks. Words never flow they stutter. And I wrote the scene up next in my head last night and so my brain now thinks it’s done and refuses to regurgitate for the actual pages. and my muse just checked into a hotel in the Bahamas, without me. Where are the bon bons and boa when you need them?
My muse also escaped to the Bahamas, Dee! I think we should fly down there together and find those bee-yotches and drag their butts home. After a few days lounging in the sun, of course
Who’s with us?!??!
I’m in!
This may be a dumb comment, but some people produce better work when up against the wall. Not saying it’s fun, or even purposeful. Perhaps, it just forces you to focus all creative energies.
I’d be curious to hear from the authors. Even though you hate the stress, do you produce your best work during those final frantic weeks???
I certainly hope so!
Ha! Ditto!!
I don’t know about that. I would like to think that the work produced with enough time would be better.
OMG, Julia, we are the SAME person. Happens to me all the time. And I really wasn’t going to be pressed against the deadline THIS time–really–but then the move took much longer than I’d planned, and then the basement flooded, etc., etc., etc.–it seems I never factor in enough time for LIFE. So, if it helps, you’re not in deadline hell alone. xox
Well, struggle as you will to write a book, you guys never fail to turn out a good read. Thanks for that!
Timely, very, very timely, Julia. I was up until 1pm last night, hunched over a thesaurus, red pen, and manuscript pages, scribbling until my eyes started to cross.
I don’t know how the time disappears but it does. I will say that I think writing a book fast is a lot easier than writing it slow. I forget stuff, and have to do a lot of rereading to figure out what I’ve done and what is left to do.
I love the writing fantasy. I think my writing fantasy is to have this great room, loaded with books, and a big wooden table with pens and papers and a vault-like door that can be locked FROM THE INSIDE (to guard against the family) and a overstuffed leather chair with an ottoman. I would love that!
HAHA, that’s my life exactly. My same process. We’re even more alike than I realized, right down to the fantasy of great, successful writers and being one. With the bug-free garden. And the birds that land and sing as a I write, a song just for me that does not disturb my work and make me want to grab a shotgun and blow them away, oh no. The birds help me work at a happy, cheery pace. Tra la la…