Processing
So it turns out that I can write a book and also do other things, but writing a book plus anything else equals total disaster for the rest of my life. The last couple of weeks, I’ve been working on the new column for Redbook (the first one will appear in the January 2010 issue), so I neglected some other matters. Like remembering to eat, or talking to people. Also writing in this here blog.
And. And I just stared into space for about fifteen minutes while I tried to think of something else to write. Listen. I know you didn’t need to know that. I realize you are not reading this as I write. I thought I’d take you along for a minute on my mind journey. If it’s going to go blank for a bit, why shouldn’t you know? Don't you want to join me in my fugue state?
When I say I spent the last couple of weeks writing my Redbook column, what I mean is that I spent one week hiding under the duvet insisting that I have nothing worthwhile to say to anyone, and another week hiding under the duvet, emerging to tap out a few words, running around screaming that I’m a worthless hack, and then diving headfirst back under the duvet. You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you? I can see it on your face. All right, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, shut up.
I don’t know if writing is this way for anyone else, but when I’m faced with a deadline, the few days beforehand are torture. (And yet I could never get anything done without a deadline. And meeting a deadline is an unparalleled relief.) The only way I can get anything done is the following: I must 1) wear a hooded robe or sweater, hood up, and 2) put a blanket over my head, so as to create another hood over the hood, and if that’s not enough I 3) close my eyes while writing. Is that not utterly pathetic? I have to squirrel myself away in a cocoon of emotional comfort so that I can (sometimes tearfully) bang out the last few words I require to get the job done. But for whatever reason, this works for me.
I mentioned some of my bizarre habits to my Redbook editor (on whom I may have a burgeoning girl-crush—but I won’t admit to anything, except secretly when I whisper it in my pillow), and she seemed unfazed. She said brightly, “Well, that’s your process!”
So I am not insane. I have figured out my process. And you? Do you have one? Come on, admit it.










November 10, 2009
Reader Comments (94)
And then I nap.
THEN when I wake I'm usually ready.
If research is involved, I have to add 4 steps in there about collecting scads of research and not reading it and then collecting more.
I'm doing a grad program now because I like misery.
Another great
procrastinationprocess for writing a blog is to spend nine months on your template, without producing a real entry that whole time. Yep, nine months.1) Receive assignment/project. Get really excited about it and think of lots of ideas.2) Forget about aforementioned assignment/project because there's a new episode of Glee on Hulu/new blogs to be read/shredded cheese to be eaten out of the bag.3) Try to hunker down and do project 3 or 4 days before it is due, fail miserably because once again the internet is full of too many distractions and there is too much delicious food in my fridge.4) Panic because deadline is looming, call best friend in a panic and take an Adderall.5) Make large pot of coffee, drink several Monster Low-Carb energy drinks.6) Work through the night, feel like I'm developing the most awesome ideas ever developed by any human ever while at the same time becoming acutely aware that my life isn't what it should be and my friends all probably hate me. Pace throughout the apartment intermittently.7) Eventually finish project, submit it/present it.8) Realize I haven't eaten in 24 hours and slowly reintroduce food into my system.9) Fly off the handle at the next person who calls or talks to me and cry because I hate having ADD and because I've inadvertently starved myself.10) Have a bourbon on the rocks and sleep for 16 hours.
First, I write something completely unrelated and stupid that makes no sense.
Next, I read it and decide it is brilliant, and can I use it elsewhere? This brilliance has to be immortalized, surely the world should not be deprived!
Then I make a sandwich while thinking about how brilliant I am, and how marvellous it was that it took only ten minutes to write that.
Once my sandwich is done I read it again. I decide I'm a moron, it's total crap, no one will ever see it because it is mortifying and mind-bogglingly awful, and am a worthless human being who will never write another word worth reading or ever have good sex again. Am doomed. Doomed to bad sex forever.
Then I have a drink, and gulp it down, take a deep breath, and eat the sandwich in a very hurried, very unattractive manner, chewing emphatically. Then I am suddenly juiced to try again but while making sure that thing I wrote is away from view.
Then I start all over again.
Results vary.
I wait until the very last minute to get stuff written (I'm in a Master's program right now so this happens a lot) because if I try to write way before my deadline, I tend to panic and think that I'll never, ever, ever get any of it done. Ever. (Ever.)However, once the deadline is nigh, I pretty much immediately cease panicking, realize that I'll get it done like I've gotten everything else done, and then I just do it. It's like magic. And then little angels sing my praises in my brain for getting stuff done on time.
Also, if I reeeeeally can't get something done, I bribe myself. The last time this happened I told myself that I'd buy myself a hat from Yokoo on Etsy if I got enough done. Now I have a beautiful hat. It works.
Is there something about covering one's head while thinking that works, maybe?
And then I get up and eat a little something, and then I start carmelizing onions because lord knows they take forever, and then I throw some laundry in the machine. And then I look at the clock and I have to go get the kids in an hour and I feel like the world is setting me up to fail! Why won't anyone let me write? And the self-pity, plus the sense of my time winding down, leads to low-grade panic, and that usually propels me to pound out another 300 words.
It's actually miserable and I enjoy it like a particularly well-fitting hairshirt, if the hairshirt maybe had pockets for really good chocolate.
And writing? Sure, I do that, too, in between it all, around and through the bits of chocolate melting on my white shirt while I type, unawares, and into the cracks of the keyboard.
And my 4 young kids? They share some chocolate once in awhile. When they behave.
Comforting, you are not the only AUTHOR dealing with writing drafts: http://www.joshilynjackson.com/mt/archives/001103.html
Cheering you on!