Ah, deadlines -- the bane of the writer's life! After six months carving out a career in freelancing, I am now getting down to the real nitty-gritty of the writing life, with three deadlines all coming more or less at the same time. Sometime in the next three days I have to write 6,000 words about leaving fundamentalism, anywhere between 2,000 and 5,000 words on Hammer horror films and about 1,000 words on upcoming video game releases. It's varied, I'll give it that. Hopefully I'll find time to gather some local news, too, and at least make it sound interesting (Exclusive: Town Hall gets new lick of paint, etcetera etcetera, You heard it hear first etcetera etcetera).
Writing has great benefits, not least the fact I'm self-employed and can manage my own time and space. On the other hand, the greatest benefit can also become the greatest drawback, since it is far too easy to slip into bad habits and a total lack of routine and discipline. I think I may need M Scott Peck at this time in my life. Delayed gratification and all that.
If you'd asked me this time last year what I'd be doing now, this would definitely not be the answer. I was depressed, as I had been for years, but didn't realize it. I was stuck in a teaching career that kept me whirling in a constant spiral of anxiety. I was spending the first few hours of every morning on the verge of tears and worrying about people dying and crazy, irrational things liike that, and stopping on the way to work to gag and vomit. And I really didn't realize I was all that stressed. Fancy that.
I must sign off. I am doing exactly what Scott Peck would advise me against -- blogging away and avoiding real work instead of getting the hard graft over with. Tsk.
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