How Deadlines Help You Work
And also gain premature gray hair
While I was at NerdCon: Nerdfighteria at the end of February, I got the chance to participate in a session of accelerated writing in the vein of NaNoWriMo, the period of writing in November where the Nation Novel Writing Month group encourages writers to attempt a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. Hosted by Christina Horner, the event was called NERDOWRITO which involved forty-five minutes of writing. We were all given a quote for someone in the story to say, a character to use, and an adjective to describe something, each of which had to be used in the story somehow.
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My Prompts included a quote, a character, and
an adjective, all to be used in the story |
Now, I've tried to do NaNoWriMo before, and have not gotten through the 50,000-words, but I recognize the importance of deadlines as a motivational tool. In my attempts to participate in NaNoWriMo, I try to write one thousand words a day. At the NerdCon event, I managed about 375 in forty-five minutes. That means It might have taken me a little over two hours to write the one thousand words needed for NaNoWriMo. Having three bits to work from helped, as it helped formulate a story as soon as I read them.
In general, the popular opinion is that deadlines help people work faster and more intelligently, however, it's been a mixed bag for me. Because the work I set deadlines for (like this blog) carries little consequence for not meeting them I have a hard time finishing things when I'd like to, usually because other more important things (and even unimportant things) either come up or distract me. In the past, I've asked friends for somewhat unpleasant consequences to get me to finish something, such as posting a picture of myself in pig-tails on social media. That's worked a total of once since even that consequence did not impact me enough. However, I know that I react strongly when consequences will affect my wallet (like paying bills on time) or health (making sure I go to appointments). The stress involved is most likely what motivates me, as getting sick, paying a late fee, or the general shame I feel if I forget something important are things I hope to avoid. Why I don't feel the same shame when I don't finish a blog post or a book chapter, I cannot say.
That said, the forty-five minutes of writing at NerdCon netted me the very short story below. I have left it unedited and unfinished for now, just to show the raw outcome of the experience. I hope to polish it up and give it an ending some day. For now, enjoy a short sample of raw, time limit motivated writing.
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It's was a mess. Or perhaps, it was just her. Swan Lake may be a classic, but the cast sure wasn't. It was the only thing that resembled a professional on stage was the set pieces, standing still just like they were supposed to. Instead, the cast moved about like a flock of wounded goslings, unable to hold poses and unwilling to follow instructions. She could at least take solace in the knowledge they had months to practice.
Samantha stared at her reflection as makeup continued to run in her tiny mirror in the cast dressing room, a luxury she enjoyed because of her role: the black swan. Toddlers auburn framed a face where mascara was forming lines down her cheek, and the eye shadow had been smudged by numerous back-of-the-hand tear wiping attempts, making the skin around her hazel eyes appear bruised. She had spent the past year studying her part and the realization she was surrounded by a cast that hadn't had ruined the experience.
“We'll get there,” Mike said, offering comfort. Her boyfriend was not a dancer, but his willingness to tolerate waiting for her to finish practice made him invaluable. “It's not like we have a booked house tonight.”
“We'll be lucky to be ready by next year!” Samantha lamented. “Who selected this cast?”
The director happened to walk by at that moment, avoiding eye contact with the diva.
“Look at it this way,” Mike said, picking up the micro camp site he had erected outside the stage door, “in a few months they’re bound to improve or get fired. Have you ever been in a bad production?”
“I can't even think about our first dress rehearsal. That's too far away. I'm worried how I'm going to get through these practices! I've never seen such lacking discipline among dancers!”
The ride home was a blur, lost amidst raging thoughts about her career. Thoughts of whether it had been a waste to come so far to be met with what she could only be called monumental incompetence. Or had she asked for this. “Why did I agree to work in this production, again?” she asked, but left no chance for a response. “Since when has ‘giving back’ been a requirement for success on Broadway?”
* * *
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