Friday, September 21, 2012
Feeling really weary and over it. I was just plunged into a funk by an email from one of my interviewees who'd prefer to be interviewed by phone. I have to respect her wishes but I have no means of recording a phone interview, so I'm not quite sure whether to type her answers out while I have her on speakerphone, or using GarageBand to record her while she's on speakerphone.
Either way it's another complication to deal with in just over a week until I have to hand in my draft. It's the final, final deadline – they won't extend it any further. And I'm feeling really weary and overwhelmed by all the things I still have to write and organise.
I'm basically feeling totally over my topic, too. Sick of looking at blog posts of people doing vintagey things. Sick of thinking about sizing issues. Sick of trying to conjure the personal 'voice' that my editor wants. I still have no idea what that is. I figure all I can do is try to get rid of anything that sounds at all scientific, academic, historical or even vaguely analytical and put in more funnie stories about me, my family and friends. Maybe use some colloquial language. Crack some gags. Bah! the thought just makes me want to mash my keyboard with my head.
And I'm sick of thinking and writing, more generally. I agreed to write a 4,000 word essay because I thought I'd have handed in my draft by now and I'd have these two weeks to write the essay. Idiotically my essay is about something completely different to the book that requires extra background work (mainly just watching movies). Honestly I feel tuckered out at just the thought of having to summon the brainpower to write in any organised way and say something interesting.
I'm sick of sitting at my damn computer. My elbows hurt. My back hurts. My knees hurt. I'm sick of the dry taste in my mouth from all the tannins in the endless cups of tea I'm making just to break up the time. I'm sick of all the all-nighters. I resent that horrible moment when you hear birds singing and realise the sky's got light and there's no point going to bed now so you might as well just power through.
This morning I got my work done about 45 mins before I had to leave for a screening, so I thought I'd 'just lie down for a little while' and of course I woke up four hours later having missed the whole thing. My film buddies are talking about all these films they've seen and of course I haven't seen anything except the stuff I have to review.
I think I'm grinding my teeth.
I can't bear the cat fur and shredded cardboard that's everywhere over the carpet but I just can't summon the energy to get out the vacuum cleaner. I guess I'll have to at some stage, though, because I'm hosting book club on Sunday and also I have a house inspection next Friday.
Time to order a pizza.
Either way it's another complication to deal with in just over a week until I have to hand in my draft. It's the final, final deadline – they won't extend it any further. And I'm feeling really weary and overwhelmed by all the things I still have to write and organise.
I'm basically feeling totally over my topic, too. Sick of looking at blog posts of people doing vintagey things. Sick of thinking about sizing issues. Sick of trying to conjure the personal 'voice' that my editor wants. I still have no idea what that is. I figure all I can do is try to get rid of anything that sounds at all scientific, academic, historical or even vaguely analytical and put in more funnie stories about me, my family and friends. Maybe use some colloquial language. Crack some gags. Bah! the thought just makes me want to mash my keyboard with my head.
And I'm sick of thinking and writing, more generally. I agreed to write a 4,000 word essay because I thought I'd have handed in my draft by now and I'd have these two weeks to write the essay. Idiotically my essay is about something completely different to the book that requires extra background work (mainly just watching movies). Honestly I feel tuckered out at just the thought of having to summon the brainpower to write in any organised way and say something interesting.
I'm sick of sitting at my damn computer. My elbows hurt. My back hurts. My knees hurt. I'm sick of the dry taste in my mouth from all the tannins in the endless cups of tea I'm making just to break up the time. I'm sick of all the all-nighters. I resent that horrible moment when you hear birds singing and realise the sky's got light and there's no point going to bed now so you might as well just power through.
This morning I got my work done about 45 mins before I had to leave for a screening, so I thought I'd 'just lie down for a little while' and of course I woke up four hours later having missed the whole thing. My film buddies are talking about all these films they've seen and of course I haven't seen anything except the stuff I have to review.
I think I'm grinding my teeth.
I can't bear the cat fur and shredded cardboard that's everywhere over the carpet but I just can't summon the energy to get out the vacuum cleaner. I guess I'll have to at some stage, though, because I'm hosting book club on Sunday and also I have a house inspection next Friday.
Time to order a pizza.
