“The best thing about being a writer is that ‘work’ is always something you love, plus usually accompanied by tea, coffee and cakes of some sort.”
Jamie L. Harding
Of Goals and the Nature of Infinity
They say everyone needs something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to. I’d add a fourth, although it’s sort of a mixture of #1 and #3: something to aim for. Goals.
Not that sort – for someone with my athletic ability, a good game is one in which I don’t catch the ball with my face (I’m good at this, regardless of the sport and whether I’m actually playing it or just happened to be walking past).
I’m practically addicted to setting goals for myself, but they tend to be either unachievable or unachieved. Or both. See Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and Exhibit C. The prosecution rests, m’lud.
My official goal as a full-time writer is 13 manuscript pages a day (2,000 words) or 65 pages a week. My first week as a writer seemed to be spent largely at the vet, and this week I wrote even less (for personal reasons I won’t bore you with).
Let me set the scene for you.
INT: HOUSE. THURSDAY EVENING.
Deborah looks at this week’s page count: six. Nearby is the Caped Gooseberry (M.Sc, Mathematics).
DM: Six pages is something. Six is infinitely times as many as zero. (thinks) Is that right?
CG: Um… (trying to be tactful) it’s difficult to be consistent when multiplying by infinity. (encouragingly) Six is six times as many as one.
DM: What makes you think I’m trying to be consistent? (thinks some more) One is infinitely more than zero.
CG: No, one is one more than zero.
DM: (defensive) One can be infinite, if it’s the right one.
CG: Umm…
Apparently my theoretical mathematics is what is known as “not even wrong”.
Still, something is better than nothing, and next week is a new week (just to get all my clichés in one basket). Today I counted up the pages left unwritten in my current exercise book (the one I bought before Christmas) and decided that my goal for the coming week would be to fill those 42 pages up. It’s less than my original target, but (ulp!) more than I actually wrote in the preceding two weeks combined.
Of course, this is a thinly disguised carrot: if I fill up this book I will then have to go and shop for another one. Mmm, stationery shopping! (It’s not just me, is it?)
Are you a goal-junkie too? Do you actually manage to have reasonable expectations or are you like me, careering wildly from aspiration-induced high to shortfall-induced low? Is there a cure? Your insights welcomed.
Free At Last
Yesterday I walked out of the office for the last time – and into a new life. I keep telling myself this, because it doesn’t seem real yet.
I’ve been working at the DDJ longer than I’ve been married to the Caped Gooseberry (looking forward to changing that stat) and I think it will take some time for my subconscious to realise that I’m not going back. Not on Monday, not on Tuesday, not ever.
It’s not that the DDJ was in itself so bad. The work wasn’t enormously interesting, but it certainly wasn’t the worst job I’ve ever had. My co-workers were fun and easy to get along with, and I’ll miss being part of their lives.
But it was never what I wanted to do with my life. There is an immense frustration inherent in wanting badly to do something and instead being compelled to spend hours every day in doing something else, something that isn’t important to you.
But no more! So far today I have slept in, read in bed, and rearranged furniture – three of my favourite things. More practically, I have also made a start on the housework backlog, and shopped for a second-hand desk.
To be fair, a lot of that is a normal Saturday (except I don’t often shop for furniture), so the difference is more in my awareness so far. In the words of Leslie Bricusse, “this old world is a new world and a bold world for me…”
And I’m feeling good.