Charles Dickens called procrastination the "Thief of Time." After this week's writing sessions, I also dub thee "Thief of Clarity." As the most recent deadline approached, I found myself cramming both Friday and Saturday in a desperate attempt to get my story into the hands of those chosen to provide feedback, giving me only a few days to get into the hands of the judges at Crystal Lake Publishing for the contest.
Obviously stress constantly tapped on my shoulder through those two days as a result of my insistent writing delay, but the side effect that hurt the most was my inability to write with a clear head; in turn robbing me of creativity. Well, not robbing; more like it flowed like molasses rather than syrup; like trying to run underwater as opposed to on land. You get the idea. I had to work harder to attain my goal. By the time I was done with the story, I wanted nothing to do with writing for the rest of the day...nothing. I suppose if it truly robbed me of anything it would be my joy of writing. "Thief of Joy"...sounds about right.
Last night I celebrated the final draft (well, the first final draft) with an evening of relief and zero writing. More deadlines crashed that party this morning when I thought about two upcoming opportunities; both with deadlines. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'm grateful, but the realization did hit me hard that if I'm going to write there will always be deadlines to meet. The difference between this past deadline and future ones is the lesson I've learned.
Listening to: Anti-Procrastination Song by S.O.D.
Obviously stress constantly tapped on my shoulder through those two days as a result of my insistent writing delay, but the side effect that hurt the most was my inability to write with a clear head; in turn robbing me of creativity. Well, not robbing; more like it flowed like molasses rather than syrup; like trying to run underwater as opposed to on land. You get the idea. I had to work harder to attain my goal. By the time I was done with the story, I wanted nothing to do with writing for the rest of the day...nothing. I suppose if it truly robbed me of anything it would be my joy of writing. "Thief of Joy"...sounds about right.
Last night I celebrated the final draft (well, the first final draft) with an evening of relief and zero writing. More deadlines crashed that party this morning when I thought about two upcoming opportunities; both with deadlines. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'm grateful, but the realization did hit me hard that if I'm going to write there will always be deadlines to meet. The difference between this past deadline and future ones is the lesson I've learned.
Listening to: Anti-Procrastination Song by S.O.D.
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