I’m the one who plays spider solitaire for hours when my deadline is looming. I’m the one who decides the kitchen floor needs scrubbing again tonight or that the closets have to be organized this very day and I must go shopping for baskets and shelves at once. I guess it’s a good thing I have deadlines or my house would never get cleaned. I’d like to blame my poor writing on something else, but I’m the one putting too few or poorly chosen words on paper.
However, the same goes for my good writing. I’m the one responsible for painting vivid scenes and happily-ever-after endings. It’s my talent, it’s my drive, it’s my dream.
My life is well suited to writing at this time. I only work at the hospital when I want to. I don’t have kids who have to be driven to ballet lessons or soccer practice, or both in one night. I’m in a good place as the writing life goes, but I honestly got more done when my writing had to be squeezed in between work and family.
Years ago, when my dreamed seemed almost within reach, when I could almost taste it, I worked harder. I wanted it so badly. Then, like a large plum falling into my lap, I got that first sale. My drive has slowly gone downhill since that time. But that’s just me. I guess I need a new plum to go after, to work for, to struggle for. I’ve always worked better under pressure.
What about you? Do you work better or less effectively under pressure? Is writing pressure or a pleasure?