Hello, my name is Indy Clause [or thereabouts], and I am a total fucking hypocrite. On Tuesday, I stood up in front a bunch of students and told them that they needed to write their thesis on an index card, and then do a quick gloss of each paragraph. One idea per card. Then they were to rearrange the cards to think about order. I’ve been droning on and on about organization.
Yesterday I could not take the hypocrisy any longer. After class I printed out the Fucker, and slapped my overarching question on the header and my subthemes in the footer. As per Holly Lisle, I’m querying each scene. Stay or go? Do you answer the question or are you chattering on about something else? Are you interesting but irrelevant? The last question is the most difficult one.
I’ve been doing one section a day. This process is inevitably going to shrink my word count. One chapterlet was so boring I didn’t even want to read it. Slash and burn. Delete, delete, delete. Also, the Fucker is printed out and fastened into my work binder. So I can’t check facebook obsessively as I edit, although sometimes this also causes an uptick in my texting. Texting is less of a time suck, so that’s okay.
My dog has been feeling poorly (although he’s definitely getting better), so I edited yesterday from bed as he slumbered near me. I am the most pathetic creature to walk this earth, except for my dog, of course. By today, ugly rumors that he might be faking it for full bed privileges and wet food have surfaced.
My doctor asked me how I was doing with the changing weather, with the fact that the sun sets at 4 in this northern wasteland. I am reading a lot. And I am working. Something has to be going right, because it certainly isn’t the world.
How do you survive?