You know how it is. You work, and work, and work some more.
But since there’s always more that needs to be done, you feel you’ve accomplished nothing.
I have a habit of looking forward at the huge list of things I want to write, which currently numbers about fifteen storylines.
I feel so sorry for the poor little things, sitting on the back burner, waiting their turn. Waiting for me.
And that doesn’t take into account the twelve or so picture books, some of which are practically written.
Or that oh-so-brilliant idea I had to turn every screenplay I write into a novel and every novel into a screenplay. (Nothing like doubling your own work!)
Is it any wonder I feel I never get anything done?
Then the other day, when I realized that nearly three and a half years has passed since I obtained my MFA, I nearly freaked. How could I let so much time zip by without accomplishing anything?
At first I tried to console myself by remembering that during that time we sold our house, moved to an apartment, bought another house, and moved in. Buying, selling, and moving houses is rather time consuming. I should cut myself some slack. Maybe I have been a little lazy-
“You idiot!” A little voice called out.
I was offended. How dare that little voice speak to me like that. Why, I had half a mind to-
“Stop all that inner babble and listen,” the voice continued. “In those three and a half years you rewrote and published a novel, wrote and published two picture books, adapted three of your novels into scripts, wrote three original feature-length screenplays, and wrote the first draft of an entirely new novel. Does that sound like laziness to you?”
That silenced the inner babble. I turned to the little voice to thank it, but there was nothing there. The voice had come from inside my own head. From the logical part of me that can stand back and look at the big picture.
“Thank you!” I whispered. But I got no response.
The logical little voice is obviously the quiet type.