On productivity

[maradydd]

I don't remember whether I mentioned this or not and don't feel like checking, but not too long ago I did a little inventory of all the writing projects I have in different stages of incompletion. It took several days, because I'd think I had everything down, then remember another thing to add. I think it's finished now, though. Counting collaborative efforts, the roster sits at eight graphic fiction (comic or graphic novel) projects, seven standalone novels, three screenplays, two novel series and about thirty short stories.

Some of these are blowoff/silly projects (the webcomic, the pulp novel Colin and I have been pounding out). Some of them are older ideas which I may not end up reviving (Searching for Everett Warren, or the series about the family of timetravellers, for instance; there's a whole series of short stories I didn't include because I've already decided that the unfinished ones really aren't good enough to merit the time I'd have to take revising them, and that may happen to these as well). Some of them are more for my own enjoyment and learning-experiences than for any sort of commercial endeavour (Clockwork, or the epistolary thing that Alex and I have been idly working on). But I'd say the solid majority are what I'd call Serious Projects: stuff I will finish and shop around, because I know they're good. Or will be good, once they're done.

The fact that I am so bad about getting things done annoys me. This semester I've proven to myself that I can get required things taken care of by the time they need to be done. Sometimes it's mere minutes before they're due, but hey, they get done. This does not happen with my writing, and I'm not sure why. Self-imposed deadlines seem to mean less than externally imposed ones. I told myself I was going to get most of Space City knocked out over summer break (the title's a reference to Houston, it has nothing to do with science fiction, damn you all), and here I sit nearing December, with a chapter and a half on the hard drive. About two weeks ago I started a short story that isn't going to break 4000 words (probably not even 3000), I'm even pretty sure how I want to end it now (thanks for the remarks, Diana), and I stare at it for two hours, coming up with no prose. Plenty of ideas. No prose.

It doesn't help that I'm sick, because that just makes me uncomfortable and bitchy.

I distract far too easily, and the driving thought in my life right now is "If I can just survive the next four weeks, I can get home and see C-kun and the cats."

(I miss those cats. Earlier today I ran across a PETA webpage talking about conditions at some animal shelter back East, how they euthanize the animals by sticking hypodermics into their hearts, and it brought on a serious case of cat-missing. I am such a fucking bleeding-heart when it comes to abandoned pets -- Bounce was a street kitty, and I insisted to Leo that we bring her into the apartment one freezing November night and we never put her back out -- and my DIY default reaction on seeing a homeless animal is "Ooh, adopt it!" In the increasingly less likely future where I end up single, I'll be that crazy lady who lives in a huge sprawling house with twenty-seven cats sleeping on the furniture.)

(Yes, I miss Colin too. These brief tastes of him, back in late September and last weekend, may be doing me more harm than good when it comes to keeping me focused. I get my fix, but afterwards I'm jonesing more than ever for the high. I could try and romanticize it, but there's no point. It's not like when I was a freshman in college and desperately missing John, feeling like I was missing a limb or something equally dramatic. It's more like the time in high school when I tried going vegetarian: I knew exactly what I was missing, I knew that the thing I was missing was something I enjoyed very much, and the fact of its absence was irritating rather than saddening, because I knew it didn't have to be gone and was in fact only gone because I had chosen thusly -- and the fact that its absence was in some respect "good for me" was pretty fucking cold comfort.)

Too many bad habits. Need some good habits. Concentration, diligence, enjoyment. Got the theory. Need the practice.

Also: dill Havarti is a very tasty cheese.

Comments

[karine.livejournal.com]

You know, that whole "need to get things done but can't" thing is something I live with every day. Yes, self imposed deadlines should help... but deadlines imposed by someone else work a lot better. Is there someone that you can get to be your proofreader? One that will have a set time to read your stuff, and you have to deliver stuff to that person on the said deadline? Maybe that can help... Maybe if you find a "work place" to do your writing in, a place that you go to specifically to work... being in a work environment may help you get productive. That's why I asked my parents if I can use a drawing table in their office to work on storyboards -- at home I wasn't getting anything done.

And about missing Colin -- *hugs* I know how you feel... but take comfort in the fact that it's not forever... and you'll be together soon.

- Karine

[maradydd.livejournal.com]

Actually, that business of a proofreader worked really, really well when I was working on that one Cthulhu story -- Bear was constantly on my back to read more of it, which was nice. (Then again, I think the drugs also helped. That's probably something I shouldn't repeat. *l*) I do have an online writing group, and they're both really great people AND excellent writers (one of them won the Warner Aspect First Novel contest, and her book comes out in mass-market this coming April). But it's kinda different from having someone nagging me. heh.

Did I mention that Alex (Prysm) is planning on moving in with us come fall? I'm hoping that having three writers in one house will help all of us out -- Colin and I got a lot of work done over the spring and summer, just going out to coffeehouses and working on our various projects-of-the-moment. It's an environment thing, I think.

It really is a good idea. Thanks, Karine. :) Now I just need to find that work-environment. Hmm. I've got that study carrel in the library that I never use ... wonder if that will work?

[beastie2k.livejournal.com]

I think it's the time of the year. I've got a commission, and two ideas of my own for paintings and I've been monumentally lazy about starting any of it. Of course, recently I've been with the bouncing betty that some refer to as my love life, but I don't have that excuse anymore. I kinda just want to play computer games, read and stare out the window.

[maradydd.livejournal.com]

I think there's something of a decompression period that comes into play after anything especially personal and dramatic warps your life. I really hate the sensation of being over someone thoroughly enough that you know you'll never want them back, but not enough over them that you don't even care enough to despise them any more. It takes up valuable brain CPU cycles that you know would be better spent on painting or poetry or whatever, but for some damn reason aren't spending that way.

I'm sorry. I'm ranting vaguely. Here, I'll rant more specifically: Not a day goes by that something doesn't remind me of John and I fucking hate that, especially since I am actually HAPPY with Colin.

But yeah. I don't have any computer games to play, but I spend irritating amounts of time online, or reading, or other vague whatever stuff. I think if I were home I'd be going to #s a lot more often.

Heh. Maybe when I come back for break we should try and reinstate the writing group. Or get together at some semi-regular frequency for artgeek coffee. Or something.

Fleh

[beastie2k.livejournal.com]

This crap is really starting to get old. I spend so much time thinking about Jennie and I know that she doesn't think about me at all. Also, as you say, one ends up wasting precious energy on futile ruminations that could be much better spent on creativity.

Man, I'm just very discouraged at the moment. I'm getting too old for this crap and I'm dispairing of ever finding a decent person to be with. I know rationally that I will find a good person, but right now it just seems hopeless.

I would love to have coffee when you get back. Let me know when you'll be here and free.