Free Fall-ing

This is the view from the window where I sit and write every morning. This tree is the first to turn every year and I'm grateful for it because sometimes I need the reminder to go outside and watch fall happen.

Lately, when there are only a few minutes to grab, I gotta throw my whole body over them and hold 'em down. That's what I'm doing now, trying to cram an entry into a time slot that I would not usually consider "enough." Enough these days has to be whatever I can give.

Busy, yes. But the good kind of busy.

This reminds me of a Harry Chapin quote Dan sometimes recites to me. (It's actually Harry Chapin quoting his grandfather.)

"Harry, there's two kinds of tired. There's good tired and there's bad tired".

He said, "Ironically enough, bad tired can be a day that you won. But you won other people's battles, you lived other people's days, other people's agendas, other people's dreams, and when it's all over there was very little you in there. And when you hit the hay at night somehow you toss and turn, you don't settle easy."

He said, "Good tired, ironically enough, can be a day that you lost. But you won't even have to tell yourself, because you knew you fought your battles, you chased your dreams, you lived your days. And when you hit the hay at night, you settle easy, you sleep the sleep of the just, and you can say, 'Take me away'."

He said, "Harry, all my life I've wanted to be a painter and I've painted. God, I would have loved to have been more successful, but I've painted, and I've painted, and I am good tired, and they can take me away."

What kind of tired are you?

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am good busy and good tired. (Dan's been bad tired lately which motivates me to appreciate the kind of tired I am.) Lately, I've had the feeling that I'm doing lots of different things and not one thing particularly well, but at least I'm pretty much fighting my own battles.

In bed last night I told Dan that I may need to "drop out" for a couple of months to get some real writing done. I suppose this brings us to the:

Melliterary Spew:

I'm struggling with my self-imposed December 1, 2009 rough draft deadline. (Clearly, I struggle with deadlines in general as evidenced by my being late with these Friday updates for two weeks in a row and barely making it the week before that. This, within the first four weeks of promising---mostly myself---that I would stick to this Friday thing.)

The good news is that despite having wanted to abandon The Bookish about a billion times, I am still working on it. I've been starting my workday at 6am in order to get as much done as I can before having to leave the apartment at 2pm to get Molly from school. Those hours are flying because I'm filling them with writing and organizing and brainstorming (in addition to 17 bathroom breaks, 13 trips to the kitchen, five Facebook scans, seven e-mail peeks and sometimes even exercise, showering and getting dressed). But the more I do, the further I realize I have to go. This is exciting. When it's not totally overwhelming and the work doesn't feel like utter and complete doodie that should be abandoned immediately, it's fun. I like discovering the different facets and challenges of a project of this scale. Plus, I'm sort of working on a children's book and, oh yeah, this blog. When I think about all of this (and I am having a good perspective day) I am positively giddy at the prospect of this being the busyness that makes up the rest of my life. I love the idea of juggling creative projects; going under for months at time and then coming up for air. I remember being a teenager, so sick of the daily grind of school, and thinking that alternating months (or years) of being a slave to my work and then having periods of total freedom was a much more appealing life schedule. (We'll save for later the how-to-make-a-living aspect of this particular dream.)

Shit guys, I think I'm getting close to living that schedule and I am totally enjoying the process. The problem is that if I want to make my deadline (or even come close)I have to fit more process into the day.

(And let's be honest, cultivating this ability to make and meet deadlines---of having an actual endpoint---is the link between the writing and the money-making. How can I even get to the submission and rejection part of this journey---can't wait!---without finishing something? I suppose that fear has a place in this discussion---maybe it's even why nothing ever feels finished---but, let's just not...I can't write one more word about fear right now. This whole entry was supposed to be a two-minute recap that ended up taking me hostage anyway.)

So, I'm going under. I'll start with a no phone call, Facebook or e-mail rule during the day. (Feel free to reprimand me if you see a status update---"Lola Mellowsky is drunk at noon"---in the middle of the day.) Also, I'll need to neglect Dan for a bit. He says he's okay with it. (Maybe the time I gain from not indulging in online ADD food will make it so that I only need to grab a few weeknights for writing.) I said to him, "If I was a lawyer trying to make partner, I would be working 80-hour weeks. I've given that kind of dedication to almost everything---particularly my jobs---and everyone else in my life, but I've never done it with writing."

He got it. No more gourmet meals on the table at 6pm, I'm afraid. No more ironed bedsheets. Whatever will he do without a wife who suddenly and without warning drapes herself over his lap rather than using words to ask for a back massage? Oh, the suffering...

Of course, all this hinges on my maintaining enough motivation and discipline to "stay on task," a directive I remember dismissing back in the school days. ("Inattentive in class" and "Does not work to potential" were the standard report card comments.) None of this---not a bit of this make your own schedule, earn your own living business---works if I don't finally get shit done.

I can blame Facebook, or the three to five-hour chunks that watching Molly after school takes from my day, or even Dan but the real responsibility will always be (and has always been) mine.

I will not miss my Friday deadline again.

(Probably.)