At the start of the year, when all the UR members had to book dates for posts on this lovely blog, I picked this date with the idea that I would be in the midst of my newest book release. I had this beautiful idea that if I could chip away at my book a little bit every day, six months would be more than enough time to whip it into shape.
Then again, I've never edited a book so long that I had to split it into five sections for one of my critique partners... with each single section being novel-length.
Needless to say, editing is kicking my butt in a big way. So I'm pushing my publishing date out to the end of the year in the hope that I'll be done by then.
It still left me with this post, though. So I thought about writing about deadlines and the pressure we put on ourselves sometimes.
I'm terrible about self-care. Seriously. I'm good at setting goals and chasing them down with Javert-like dogged determination. (John Malkovich Javert is my favorite, in case that was a burning question in the back of your mind.) Except... when the goal is to just have fun, or to take care of myself.
Which is not to say that I'm a stick in the mud. I love enjoying myself as much as the next person. But there's a flip-side to the "doing what you love" gig. "Do what you love," they say, "and you will never work for a day of your life."
Well... Lately I've come to realize that another, less-known adage has made it into my mind: "Do what you love and even your relaxation becomes work."
Writing? Work. Reading? Work. Watching TV? Work. Going to the movies? Work. Don't get me wrong. I love it. But I have found it harder to turn off for the day because the very things I used to do to relax are now the things I do to make a living.
Add to that deadlines (self-imposed or not) and/or the knowledge that you've got a few thousand people waiting for your next book to come out, and you've got yourself a pressure cooker. This gets even worse when we keep the deadlines short because conventional wisdom says we have to rush to get our books published... like yesterday.
But coming to this past weekend, when I had pictured I'd be celebrating my newest book being out, I just realized it's not necessarily the best thing to put that level of pressure on ourselves. Especially when you share in my good fortune of being able to write full-time. There needs to be a point where it's okay to miss a deadline, or to slack off and just have fun. To do something just for the hell of it instead of to reach some end-goal you have in mind. Otherwise, what would be the point of doing any of it in the first place?