I woke up to a dim-lit morning, so I turned on my “Happy Lamp”, wanting to spark my serotonin levels and start the day right. Living in a rainforest town (Ketchikan, Alaska), a person learns to use ticks like a full-spectrum light box such as my “Happy Lamp” in order to maintain.
This light resembles the sun at high noon, no shadows to hide behind. I am late for my own deadline; Wednesdays, not Thursday, was my deadline for a once-a-week post. Excuses stand out and guilt wraps my knuckles with a sting only a catholic school nun could give. So I apologize and move on.
Even in this moment of shame, I believe deadlines add to the creative process beyond forcing the writer to finish. Limits of any kind push me beyond the convenient answers. Limiting the time I have to work on a story or piece, forces my pen to move over mistakes. When I feel the freedom of unlimited time, I tend to fixate on a detail instead of working the whole piece and then editing it with a fresh eye.
The word “deadline” sounds so negative to me, implying something dies after crossing. Beware of the Line of Death! Wouldn’t “Birth-line” be better as it really is when the art is born? That just sounds so much nicer, with a southern lady’s drawl. Maybe if I defined it in more positive wording I could honor my own schedule. A part of me calls me out on that thought, after all “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.” – Gertrude Stein.
I know me my dilemma with the clock and calendar is mine, I can not put it on the words. I tend to pack my minutes with an hours worth of stuff to dos. More is not better yet I find myself shoving more in my day and getting less out. I’m hopping one thing I get out of blogging is the satisfaction of small doses.