I’m a daydreamer from way back. Actually, I don’t remember a day when I haven’t gone off with the fairies and come back with an idea, a problem solved, or a realisation made.
My most memorable recollections of school for example, include seemingly inane snippets of school life – like the way grass never grew on the sloping patch of dirt between the four-square court and the oval, the way perfect beads of persiration formed on Caitlin Smith’s* top lip, and the sweat-and-fruit effluvium of the wooden standard unit blocks used in maths lessons.
I’ve spent most of my life observing and looking inward. Filtering my experiences through imagination, feeling and intuition. My general feeling is that this approach is seen as a bit soft or fuzzy, lacking in fact and the rigour of proper analysis.
Although, this is a good way for a writer to be.
To complicate matters further, I’m easily pulled off task by flashing lights, loud noises, bizarre behaviour, and… ooh, shiny…
I’m a master procrastinator – a masternator? A masterastinator, mastinator or The Mastocrastinator… masticator, masturbator… erm, no…
Where was I? Ah, yes… getting sidetracked.
I like daydreaming – no, actually, I love daydreaming – and I don’t mind being distracted because it’s good for generating ideas and empathy. Sadly, it’s not so good for getting shit done.
It’s all shiny, even in the dark
Writing is fun, and I love it, but at times it’s hard, too.
I doubt every bloody word I write, I still can’t tell myself with any conviction that I’m on the right path, and I still vacillate between my YA manuscript and my children’s picture book stories.
But, that’s okay.
- When my writing is shit, I keep writing.
- When it’s mediocre, I keep writing.
- When it’s fabulous, I give myself a pat on the back and keep writing.
- When the story seems to be going nowhere, I let myself feel the frustration and, then, I write my way out of not knowing.
- When I doubt my creative path, I go with the feeling and then I get back into writing.
- When I procrasti-imagine, I let it take me away and give thanks for my ability to imagine. Then, I keep writing.
More and more, when The Mastocrastinator takes over, it’s easier for me to say hasta la vista, baby.