I’m in a shambles. Working desperately hard does not, repeat, does not mean I’m getting in the hours, each and every day, to which I’m committed. Nor are the hours always the work I need to do. I can’t decide whether to draft or produce the next mystery (launching in April) or improve marketing or try new projects. Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
I’ve worked just over 6 hours a day over the 73 days. That’s close to the year end target, but I should be up at 8 hours/day to allow for upcoming holidays, breaks, whatevers. And real writing, that is, writing on the nuclear history book, is only about 3 hours/day, well short of what this Big Year wants.
I’ll try and collect my thoughts over the next day or so, and then reorient.
I’d love to be immersed in 1957, writing up German post-war reactor efforts, but today is urgent editing of Gentle & Tusk #2. I’m always surprised by how long it takes to process editing input – in this case from a hired copyeditor and six “beta readers” – and how unenjoyable the task is. But it must be done. And soonest!
Another 14 days and much the same story, tracking at 6 hours a day, not the minimum of 6½, definitely not the preferred 8 hours a day to compensate for non-working days. I have to say it’s a tough issue, squeezing out the hours. Grandparenting duties have begun and they’re so joyous it makes no sense to resist them. Friends needed help. The sun shone and I’m trying to get back my running mojo. Red wine… well, what can I say?
I’m still on the case, however, and the next week should see me alight with purpose. I’m aiming to report back on progress more often, in more detail, to really hammer out what it takes to meet this onerous Big Year’s strictures.
The dynamics of this 13-month Big Year, in which I aim for 6.5 hours of quality writing work every day, require me to monitor more closely than I’m accustomed to of late. You’d think that after three decades in the corporate world, I’d be scrupulous at measurement and feedback, but in fact I tend to get lost in the days and the work.
So let me take a quick look. I’ve had a month and a half. I’m aiming for 6.5 hours/day but need more hours now, before interruptions like travel cut the hours, so a “clean” day should deliver 8 hours. What have I achieved? The bare minimum of 6 hours. I should be happy enough but need to work harder. This issue is important because a poor start will ruin me. I’ll try to check in more often. Wish me luck!
Wrestling the right story, let alone an accurate one, out of the late 56/early 57 morass of Italy and Euratom is a killer.
Hence the affirmation or homily, depending on how you see things.
The scary vast vista is also the one that sets the soul alight.
My fourth year of the Big Decade commences tomorrow. It’ll be nothing like the first three years. This time I have no exercise component, this time I’m putting all my eggs in one basket (almost). My Author Big Year is, frankly, much like the writing Big Years of 2016, 2017, and 2018, but now it looms even larger. Make or break, that’s what it is.
For those of you unaccustomed to the seriousness with which the obsessives of the world take their obsessions, you may not understand why I use the word TERROR. But right now, looking forward, that’s what I contemplate.
Introverts can find even the most uplifting, convivial festive season to be emotionally sapping. On December 27, five minutes past eight in the morning, I’m in Finders Keepers, the finest cafe in Melbourne. My stuff. My pen.
Calm descends once more.