As I have mentioned before, I write for children’s education companies. Some of you may be wondering what that is really like. Well, here is a typical exchange:
Wonderful Company Rep: Hi, Barb! We need two poems about the Civil War, a talking dog cautionary tale, and a nonfiction bit about the life and times of a slug.
Me: Sounds great! When do you need them?
Fantastically Wonderful Company Rep: Yesterday.
Me: What time yesterday?
Super Fantastically Wonderful Company Rep: 4 o’clock.
Me: No problem.
Okay, okay, that’s an exaggeration – the deadline part, not the “Super Fantastically Wonderful” part (everyone I’ve worked for has been exactly that). However, the deadlines can get a bit scary.
My all-time record output was 12 original poems, stories, and nonfiction articles in 14 days, although I honestly don’t remember much about the event. In fact, I look back on that time in much the same way a person who spent two weeks in a coma would recall – as in, it was pretty foggy, and I’m fairly certain other realms were involved. The upside about hairy scary due dates is that with all the panic and relief adrenaline rushes, I never have to waste cash on sky diving or bungee jumping.
My all-time record output was 12 original poems, stories, and nonfiction articles in 14 days, although I honestly don’t remember much about the event. In fact, I look back on that time in much the same way a person who spent two weeks in a coma would recall – as in, it was pretty foggy, and I’m fairly certain other realms were involved. The upside about hairy scary due dates is that with all the panic and relief adrenaline rushes, I never have to waste cash on sky diving or bungee jumping.
Anyway, this week I received a new set of projects – 2 poems, 2 stories, and 2 plays – with a March 5th lifeline. That’s right, I said LIFEline. Not simply because that other term has the messy and morose “swimming with the fishes” part, but because lifeline is more accurate. How so? Well, those daunting dates leave NO ROOM FOR DOUBT, and as such, they always breathe life into the weak-pulsed, gasping for oxygen, harebrained ideas I come up with.
Face it, if you have an endless amount of time to finalize a piece of writing, you hem and haw, you twiddle your thumbs and wonder if you should have gone to law school, you think and rethink that this is absolutely, positively the dumbest idea ever, and then you go clean the tub. With a “lifeline” all that crazy-making (and sadly, housecleaning) goes away. If I am working on a story that’s due tomorrow, and all I can come up with is something about a boy and his duck, well dadgummit, it’s going to be the best dang “boy and his duck” story that I can possibly muster. And guess what? It usually turns out much better than I ever expected. It will for you, too. And yes, I have actually sold a “boy and his duck” story.
PROMPT: Ditch the dead and embrace the lifeline. Set a due date for your next project and make it real. Give a friend a check filled out to your LEAST favorite cause (pick your persuasion -- those Repulsive Republicans or Dastardly Democrats, perhaps) and have them send it in, if you’re not done on time. Or worse – have someone hide the chocolate (gasp!) until you are through. You can do this! How do I know? Because you are Super Fantastically Wonderful! Set a date. Get it done. Then invite me to the party.
P.S. Weekends around here are for “filling the well” with fun and adventure! Be sure to do the same, and I’ll catch you on the flipside Monday morning. I’ll even bring the coffee.
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