Beware of the Line of Death

   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.

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