11 hours out of 15 this week. Thought of one way, that 73.3 percent. A 'C' grade.
Thought of another way 11 hours is 5 more than the 6 I managed in week one. That's an 83 percent increase, or a solid B!
Thought of in yet another way, 11 is 183 percent of 6 which is like and Attttt!
So while 11 is not 15, it's closer, and that's a good thing.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do...
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Bo-Bo Knows A Period of Orientation
Inauspicious. That's the word that springs to mind when I sat down this morning to see that I worked on my book for only 5 hours and 54 minutes of the 15 hours I just hired myself to put in every week.
The inner mean boss likes that word. Because inauspicious has just the right blend of pretentious haughtiness, don't you think?. It brings to mind the image of a nasty old lady, arms crossed, eyes staring at me over the world's ugliest reading glasses. Everything about the posture of this woman tells me I'm a failure. And when I calmly explain that work got crazy, that I took two days off to spend time with my husband, that I managed to do an hour a day on my busiest days to compensate, she just sniffs at me:
"And how many episodes of Dr. Who did we watch, hmmm?"
Fair point, I guess. Though I would argue that one of the episodes was "Love and Monsters," a fine example of bloody brilliant story telling.
But although I'm no stranger to treating myself as a metaphorical whipping post (do better, do more, you suck you suck you totally suck!) I've decided thinking like that is just not helpful. Pas de tout! Which if I remember right means not at all, but even if it doesn't, so what? What are you gonna do, little librarian boss lady that lives in my brain? Stare at me to death?
Did I have the kind of first week I was hoping to have? No. I had just a little south of 40 percent of the week I was hoping to have. But it's a start I'm deciding to think of as "orientation." And it was useful time! I entered last week stuck on the epilogue. This week I got six pages in, realized it was totally wrong, berated myself for (yet again) not getting it right the first time, and then pulled out a fresh piece of paper and planned out a new take on the scene that (miracle of writing spoiler alert) works better! Yes, I wrote pages, scrapped them, and ended the week with "just" an outline of what to do this week. But that's kind of why the revision process is all about putting the time in and not the page count. I could have done more--perhaps I should have done more--but I've decided that as far as orientations go, it was a brilliant first week:
Because though I'm committed to getting my 15 hours in this week, who knows what that time will bring. The scene I'm working on now will likely thrive, but the scene after that? I'm done with the crystal ball sorcery of writing goals I can't control, like "finish a scene" or "write an epilogue" or (gulp) "finish this draft." Because after looking into my future (read that as glancing at my day planner), I can be reasonably assured that I'll eke out 15 hours of work this week. If that brings me to the end of this revision, fantastic. But if it doesn't, some other week's hours will. Because progress, however slow, will lead to a finish line eventually. Isn't that the first commandment in the church of writing or something?
Plus, if I don't pull my shit together this week, my inner librarian will come at me with this message:
And nobody wants to die at the hands of a Dalek sucker thingy because--let's face it--death by Dalek is kind of lame.
The inner mean boss likes that word. Because inauspicious has just the right blend of pretentious haughtiness, don't you think?. It brings to mind the image of a nasty old lady, arms crossed, eyes staring at me over the world's ugliest reading glasses. Everything about the posture of this woman tells me I'm a failure. And when I calmly explain that work got crazy, that I took two days off to spend time with my husband, that I managed to do an hour a day on my busiest days to compensate, she just sniffs at me:
"And how many episodes of Dr. Who did we watch, hmmm?"
Fair point, I guess. Though I would argue that one of the episodes was "Love and Monsters," a fine example of bloody brilliant story telling.
But although I'm no stranger to treating myself as a metaphorical whipping post (do better, do more, you suck you suck you totally suck!) I've decided thinking like that is just not helpful. Pas de tout! Which if I remember right means not at all, but even if it doesn't, so what? What are you gonna do, little librarian boss lady that lives in my brain? Stare at me to death?
Did I have the kind of first week I was hoping to have? No. I had just a little south of 40 percent of the week I was hoping to have. But it's a start I'm deciding to think of as "orientation." And it was useful time! I entered last week stuck on the epilogue. This week I got six pages in, realized it was totally wrong, berated myself for (yet again) not getting it right the first time, and then pulled out a fresh piece of paper and planned out a new take on the scene that (miracle of writing spoiler alert) works better! Yes, I wrote pages, scrapped them, and ended the week with "just" an outline of what to do this week. But that's kind of why the revision process is all about putting the time in and not the page count. I could have done more--perhaps I should have done more--but I've decided that as far as orientations go, it was a brilliant first week:
- Eased myself into a new habit? Check!
- Created a plan of attack for moving forward? Check!
- Generated excitement for the possibilities of the new ending? Check! Check! Check!
- Ready to commit to finishing the epilogue this week? Well, no. Not check.
Because though I'm committed to getting my 15 hours in this week, who knows what that time will bring. The scene I'm working on now will likely thrive, but the scene after that? I'm done with the crystal ball sorcery of writing goals I can't control, like "finish a scene" or "write an epilogue" or (gulp) "finish this draft." Because after looking into my future (read that as glancing at my day planner), I can be reasonably assured that I'll eke out 15 hours of work this week. If that brings me to the end of this revision, fantastic. But if it doesn't, some other week's hours will. Because progress, however slow, will lead to a finish line eventually. Isn't that the first commandment in the church of writing or something?
Plus, if I don't pull my shit together this week, my inner librarian will come at me with this message:
And nobody wants to die at the hands of a Dalek sucker thingy because--let's face it--death by Dalek is kind of lame.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Bo-Bo Knows Accountability Mondays
So a little more than a year ago, I ran a marathon. Let's ignore for a minute that I've gone totally soft since then and can't actually remember the last time I ran (today's as good a day to begin again as any, I say).
The important thing about this marathon is that I did it. Me. With a body that has almost always looks better suited to competitive eating than running did it for one simple reason: I found a training program set up like a to-do list that was like crack to my type-A step-by-step mentality. It helped that I loved my cause (Grubbies 4 eva, and all that) but having the heart to do something only gets you to the starting line. To cross the finish takes a clear understanding of the neuroses you have to co-opt for your cause.In my case, an addiction to crossing things off a to-do list in exactly the same way I'd cross off four training runs a week.
You know what you can't cross off a to-do list?
Finishing the (expletive deleted) novel, that's what!
I'm not talking about your daily email-so-and-so-and-pay-the-mortgage-and-call-that-client-and-go-get-groceries list but the larger to-do list in your brain. The finish-the-novel line item just sits there, taking up space, like a house guest that made you giddy the first year she stayed with you, but is still there years later, sitting around, like an un-cross-off-able lump.
I know the solution is breaking the novel down into drafts or chapters or pages or word counts. But then the to-do list monster rears its head, and the math seems painfully clear: if you write you'll cross off one thing, but if you send that email, pay the mortgage, call that client, and get your groceries, you'll not only cross off FOUR things, but you'll also eat.
You know.
At a table in a house that isn't heading into foreclosure.
The thing is, the writer in me is sick of being shuttled to the bottom of my daily to-do list. So I'm doing the only thing that I know has worked in the past. No, not page counts. When you're working on revision, a full day's work might end in a negative page count. Page counts are evil for revision. You can't see it, but I'm holding my fingers up in a cross at the words "page counts" on the screen.
Nope. I'm doing something a little more weighty. I'm taking on writing as a part-time job.
What's that you say? Hasn't writing been a part-time job for me for years? Well, you'd think. But have you ever known me to blow off a job--freelance or salaried or what have you--because I needed to go grocery shopping? Have you ever known me to blow a deadline when someone--besides me--was actually waiting for something? No. Because I'm a doormat when it comes to the promises I make. I need to work on that, I really do. But not before I co-opt that doormat attitude for the one project I'll tell anyone who listens is the nearest and dearest to my creative self.
So I'm signing a contract today:
Catherine Elcik is a writer in the Boston area. Watch for "Accountability Monday" updates here or on her Twitter feed (#accmon) every Monday.
The important thing about this marathon is that I did it. Me. With a body that has almost always looks better suited to competitive eating than running did it for one simple reason: I found a training program set up like a to-do list that was like crack to my type-A step-by-step mentality. It helped that I loved my cause (Grubbies 4 eva, and all that) but having the heart to do something only gets you to the starting line. To cross the finish takes a clear understanding of the neuroses you have to co-opt for your cause.In my case, an addiction to crossing things off a to-do list in exactly the same way I'd cross off four training runs a week.
You know what you can't cross off a to-do list?
Finishing the (expletive deleted) novel, that's what!
I'm not talking about your daily email-so-and-so-and-pay-the-mortgage-and-call-that-client-and-go-get-groceries list but the larger to-do list in your brain. The finish-the-novel line item just sits there, taking up space, like a house guest that made you giddy the first year she stayed with you, but is still there years later, sitting around, like an un-cross-off-able lump.
I know the solution is breaking the novel down into drafts or chapters or pages or word counts. But then the to-do list monster rears its head, and the math seems painfully clear: if you write you'll cross off one thing, but if you send that email, pay the mortgage, call that client, and get your groceries, you'll not only cross off FOUR things, but you'll also eat.
You know.
At a table in a house that isn't heading into foreclosure.
The thing is, the writer in me is sick of being shuttled to the bottom of my daily to-do list. So I'm doing the only thing that I know has worked in the past. No, not page counts. When you're working on revision, a full day's work might end in a negative page count. Page counts are evil for revision. You can't see it, but I'm holding my fingers up in a cross at the words "page counts" on the screen.
Nope. I'm doing something a little more weighty. I'm taking on writing as a part-time job.
What's that you say? Hasn't writing been a part-time job for me for years? Well, you'd think. But have you ever known me to blow off a job--freelance or salaried or what have you--because I needed to go grocery shopping? Have you ever known me to blow a deadline when someone--besides me--was actually waiting for something? No. Because I'm a doormat when it comes to the promises I make. I need to work on that, I really do. But not before I co-opt that doormat attitude for the one project I'll tell anyone who listens is the nearest and dearest to my creative self.
So I'm signing a contract today:
I, Catherine Elcik, on Monday, October 17, 2011, agree to take on the position of part-time writer, defined herein as 15 hours a week for 50 weeks (a girl's gotta have a couple weeks vacation!) for a total of 750 hours in a year. Kay. Thanks. Bye.Some part of me looks at that number and thinks 15 hours seems like such a drop in the bucket compared to all the other things I do with my time (my full-time job, walking Bo-Bo, watching Dr. Who like a freshly converted addict...) But if having a tangible goal actually gets me to add drops into the bucket, I just might have something at year's end. If not a finished novel, perhaps a finish line in sight. The part of me that's wondering if I really want to publish this post at all knows that it's not only going to work, but it's what I need. Deep breath. Hit send. Write. Wish me luck!
Catherine Elcik is a writer in the Boston area. Watch for "Accountability Monday" updates here or on her Twitter feed (#accmon) every Monday.
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