I am making progress on my oh so great minimalist adventure. I am actually soon to embark on the most important part of the project, which is going to be to get my writing drafts, both on the computer and in print, organized.
It seems to help if I can visualize what it is that I need to do next. The options ARE narrowing. In a few minutes I am going to put my poems that are in print form in order. When finally, I get my other projects done, I will assemble an eBook, or two or three.
I am going to make a list of writing projects that I hope to get done this year.
I know why many good writers don’t produce more than they do. This is because it takes time to revise and copy edited the given work. It is way more fun to come up with something new than to keep working on something old. At the same time, there is also that dreaded inner censor, the one who after months of hard work, will rear his or her ugly head and speak. The conversation often goes something like this:
Inner Censor: You know, what you have here isn’t any good.
Writer: Why do you say this?
IC: I’m trying to save you some time.
W: But I’ve put a lot of work into what’s before you.
IC: What a pity.
W: It’s not a pity if I don’t give up.
IC: Give it up.
W: But, but, but. . .
IC: I said, give it up.
W: But, but, but.
IC: Pitch all those drafts into your wooden crate. Then put what’s in the crate in the recycling bin. Pete just put labels on the bins, so you can readily identify Office Paper.
W: You mean Pete thinks that this latest project is also unworthy of saving?
IC: He wouldn’t say so, but indeed, he doesn’t like what you’ve written either.
W: But he liked my recycling book idea at first.
IC: That was before you killed it. You revised it to death.
IC: We could conduct a wake for you.
W: Who would we invite?
IC: All your friends who work in the recycling center.
W: But they like what I’ve written/
IC: They lie like rugs.
W: Why are they lying?
IC: Because it beats standing up.
W: You have an amazing wit.
IC: And an unerring sense of what constitutes good writing.
W: Do you think so?
IC: I know so.
W: Well, you are probably right.
IC: Atta girl – I am right. I would not steer you wrong.
W: No, you have never steered me wrong.
IC: Beep Beep.
W: I have been listening to you for years. And now I have nothing to show for it.
IC: My dear, it’s all about the process.
W: And the acclaim. I haven’t gotten any of that.
IC: You know, you can’t take books or drafts with you to heaven.
W: Who says I’m going to heaven?
IC: Well, you can’t stay here.
W: Are you by any chance friends with the grim reaper?
IC: I am just an acquaintance.
W: Well, into the garbage this book goes.
IC: Good job, I knew you could do it!
And there you have it, another day in the life of Alys Culhane and her Inner Critic. But rather than toss all, I am going to keep what I have on hand. After all, my archivist might be less critical.
Next: 358. 12/27/17: Over the River and through the Woods