I have so much to do, so many projects, and a baby who is a major monopolizer of my time and energy; and I think, why? Why should I pursue something that my heart is not in right now? Why shouldn't I turn my passion and my spare moments to working on something that brings me joy?
Because it's very possible that this lack a joy is part of the process -- that you'll hit it EVERY time you near completion, or at least reach the stage where a project is not an endless expanse of possibility and potential but simply pages of damage control. And sure, maybe this project isn't "the one," maybe in the end you'll shelve it for real, but it's possible that if you back off whenever it reaches this point you'll give yourself a complex. That you'll never learn how to push through the inertia and disinterest and do good work regardless. And maybe one day you'll look back and realize that one of those projects -- maybe not this one, but one of them -- where you were hamstrung by lack of excitement was actually very important to you, as a writer and artist. And you let yourself walk away out of fear.
Because it's very possible that lack of interest is just the fear talking. I mean, without knowing you day to day, I can't say absolutely it is. But finishing any kind of artistic endeavor, or at least any serious attempt at finishing it, can be seriously terrifying. It's the moment of truth: here is what you are actually capable of, and this is what you have to work with. But you have to work with it to see what you're capable of from this point onward.
And, you know, if you still don't feel it's worth submitting by the promised time, then it's not. But that's weeks away. How much improvement could you do in that much time? You could think of it as a gift -- since this story is no longer "it" for you, you can take a lot more chances and experiment more freely at this stage in revisions, without worrying that you would accidentally screw up something that feels frighteningly good. If it's already broken, what harm can you do? So go for broke.
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branchandroot
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Date: 19 Sep 2011 02:42 am (UTC)Because it's very possible that this lack a joy is part of the process -- that you'll hit it EVERY time you near completion, or at least reach the stage where a project is not an endless expanse of possibility and potential but simply pages of damage control. And sure, maybe this project isn't "the one," maybe in the end you'll shelve it for real, but it's possible that if you back off whenever it reaches this point you'll give yourself a complex. That you'll never learn how to push through the inertia and disinterest and do good work regardless. And maybe one day you'll look back and realize that one of those projects -- maybe not this one, but one of them -- where you were hamstrung by lack of excitement was actually very important to you, as a writer and artist. And you let yourself walk away out of fear.
Because it's very possible that lack of interest is just the fear talking. I mean, without knowing you day to day, I can't say absolutely it is. But finishing any kind of artistic endeavor, or at least any serious attempt at finishing it, can be seriously terrifying. It's the moment of truth: here is what you are actually capable of, and this is what you have to work with. But you have to work with it to see what you're capable of from this point onward.
And, you know, if you still don't feel it's worth submitting by the promised time, then it's not. But that's weeks away. How much improvement could you do in that much time? You could think of it as a gift -- since this story is no longer "it" for you, you can take a lot more chances and experiment more freely at this stage in revisions, without worrying that you would accidentally screw up something that feels frighteningly good. If it's already broken, what harm can you do? So go for broke.