One Draft Down...

So my goal was to finish the first draft of the first of those four essays I keep meaning to write, and to do it by September 30. 

I did finish a first draft before October 1, sort of. I was so impatient to be done that the last couple of pages read kind of like, “If I were to write this more carefully, it might be interesting, and maybe I'd stick an image or two here, and then there's this one good line, and some more filler, and NOW, here are the last two lines, aren't they pretty?”

Then I threw the sort-of-done rough draft at my husband, who basically liked what I'd done, except, you know, that it wasn't really DONE done.

It took me until last night to iron out those last couple of pages, when I finally felt okay about emailing the thing to some of my virtual writing workshop people.

Eight thousand four hundred and nine words. The longest piece I've ever written “just because.”

I can't really come up with a reason why I've subjected myself (not to mention my family) to the past month+ of me getting up early and going to bed late, hogging the computer, and spending an inordinate amount of time in my bathrobe.

My intention was to try WRITING something (besides blog entries & the like) for a change. I'd said, “Someday I want to write an essay about X, Y, or Z” too many freaking times. It was time to shut up and just write. So I did. But now I seem to be on the hook FOREVER, because here's the thing: I'm still not done.

I have completed one rough draft. Whoop-de-doo. That means I MIGHT now benefit from feedback about how to FIX said rough draft.

I'm starting to feel like I'll never be done, and then I remember those ants in The Once and Future King, who had only two expressions in their language: done and not done. Merlin is trying to teach the future King Arthur how NOT to think like an ant, how to set his sights on goals more worthwhile than “done.”

You can live your whole life getting done, and getting done again, and then... you're done, and your ant buddies carry off the husk of your carcass.

Kind of a let-down, I'd have to say, if that's the only point to existence.

I guess the real reward for doing anything must be in the doing, rather than the done-ness.

Oh, who am I kidding – forget all this “it's about the journey, not the destination” business. That's for people who can't afford the five-star hotel on Kauai.

I realize that finishing may not be all it's cracked up to be, but I'm still fantasizing about the day when I will break through that yellow finish line tape and be swooped up by the wildly cheering crowd. They can cart me around on their shoulders while I do fist pumps and occasionally shake my obscenely enormous trophy (which would of course feature a figurine at her computer, her little metal fingers poised above the replica keyboard). Then I'll throw a big party at my private beach house, with sushi and leis for everyone.

Ahhh. That's the way to finish an essay.