Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Well, I haven't touched my script since last Thursday. Banged out 3 pages this morning before the 4 year old woke up, then realized, it's WEDNESDAY. Gotta do better than an hour a week! My target deadline is Thanksgiving for the first draft.
My problem is... procrastination. But only because I like this writing.
I really enjoy this story. Every time I review my outline or start a new scene, I'm excited. I think that's my problem - I rarely, if ever, have large chunks of time to devote. I'd rather not start than be interrupted, because it's a pain in the butt to leave my darlings to take care of the other... darlings. Maybe I'd do better if I was in a grim place, of forcing myself to crank out pages. As it is, it feels like a guilty pleasure, and if there's one thing that will bring a Catholic mom down, it's guilt. Especially if pleasure is involved. I don't want to dive in knowing I can't go for a long swim.
Also, my plan to work on it at night, after the kids are in bed, is failing. I thought it would be perfect, as I'm definitely a night owl, but it's just not working out. I blame my husband, who not only is a great guy that I want to spend time with (would it be easier to hole up with the laptop if he was a jerk? Probably.) but who also knocked me up, again (not that I wasn't a willing participant, but women always get to blame the man when pregnancy gets to be inconvenient or painful). Thus, 8 pm hits, there's still dinner to clean up (8 people, 6 of whom are age 8 and under. A Herculean task). I'm tired. Really tired. The couch is comfortable. Husband has taken to lighting fires in our first-ever fireplace to 'relax'. There's no resistance.
We'll see if this morning thing works better. My other grand plan was to write during naptime, but I've been napping too. Hey, I said I was tired!
One thing I hate about being pregnant, is the doctor laughs off concerns. Like this:
I'm so tired all of the time. Not a little worn out, not 'could maybe use a nap', but make another pot of coffee, it's 2 pm and I'm out of steam... take a nap at 5 o'clock or drop where I'm standing tired. "Normal", she says.
My feet hurt. Sometimes I can hardly walk. I have 3 different inserts in my shoes that make standing tolerable (not comfortable). "High arches. Hormones. Normal".
Sharp stabbing abdominal pains? Normal. Foot cramps and charley horses? Normal. Wake up every hour on the hour? Normal. Pee every half hour? Normal.
Sometimes, I wish I had a disease and people would wring their hands and shake their heads. What a saint, they would say. How does she do it. Take a break. We'll take the kids to Disneyland for two weeks while you recuperate. Maybe I can work a vicarious tragic heroine into my plot somewhere.
More likely, it'd be like A Christmas Story, when Ralphie fantasizes about soap blindness. Hysterical melodrama, not inspiring overcoming of odds. I could send off some specs to the Hallmark channel...
My problem is... procrastination. But only because I like this writing.
I really enjoy this story. Every time I review my outline or start a new scene, I'm excited. I think that's my problem - I rarely, if ever, have large chunks of time to devote. I'd rather not start than be interrupted, because it's a pain in the butt to leave my darlings to take care of the other... darlings. Maybe I'd do better if I was in a grim place, of forcing myself to crank out pages. As it is, it feels like a guilty pleasure, and if there's one thing that will bring a Catholic mom down, it's guilt. Especially if pleasure is involved. I don't want to dive in knowing I can't go for a long swim.
Also, my plan to work on it at night, after the kids are in bed, is failing. I thought it would be perfect, as I'm definitely a night owl, but it's just not working out. I blame my husband, who not only is a great guy that I want to spend time with (would it be easier to hole up with the laptop if he was a jerk? Probably.) but who also knocked me up, again (not that I wasn't a willing participant, but women always get to blame the man when pregnancy gets to be inconvenient or painful). Thus, 8 pm hits, there's still dinner to clean up (8 people, 6 of whom are age 8 and under. A Herculean task). I'm tired. Really tired. The couch is comfortable. Husband has taken to lighting fires in our first-ever fireplace to 'relax'. There's no resistance.
We'll see if this morning thing works better. My other grand plan was to write during naptime, but I've been napping too. Hey, I said I was tired!
One thing I hate about being pregnant, is the doctor laughs off concerns. Like this:
I'm so tired all of the time. Not a little worn out, not 'could maybe use a nap', but make another pot of coffee, it's 2 pm and I'm out of steam... take a nap at 5 o'clock or drop where I'm standing tired. "Normal", she says.
My feet hurt. Sometimes I can hardly walk. I have 3 different inserts in my shoes that make standing tolerable (not comfortable). "High arches. Hormones. Normal".
Sharp stabbing abdominal pains? Normal. Foot cramps and charley horses? Normal. Wake up every hour on the hour? Normal. Pee every half hour? Normal.
Sometimes, I wish I had a disease and people would wring their hands and shake their heads. What a saint, they would say. How does she do it. Take a break. We'll take the kids to Disneyland for two weeks while you recuperate. Maybe I can work a vicarious tragic heroine into my plot somewhere.
More likely, it'd be like A Christmas Story, when Ralphie fantasizes about soap blindness. Hysterical melodrama, not inspiring overcoming of odds. I could send off some specs to the Hallmark channel...
