I like to think I’m reasonably productive, but all I have to do is read novelist James Reasoner’s blog to be reminded that I’m a lazy-ass:
By the way, I finished my 185th novel today.
Can you believe that? 185 novels? And he can fix appliances, too. I have a hard time just changing the battery on my daughter’s tape recorder. His 18oth (or 183rd, who can keep track?) book, TALES FROM DEADWOOD, comes out in May under his nom-de-western "Mike Jameson."
I know exactly how you feel.
Last week I had lunch with Robert Randisi and learned he’s on novel #312…
And I haven’t finished my first.
I don’t want to sound argumentative, but it seems like we’re hearing an awful lot these days about how MUCH some people do. How hard we need to work, how it’s the writer’s fault if s/he doesn’t — you name it — get published, get paid enough, produce enough.
We live in an overworked society, in which some people barely know their families because they spend so much time toiling. More and more health studies show that we’re working ourselves to death.
Yes, writing is like being self-employed, and we know the self-employed never rest. But when I read about the need to work harder and harder, people who never take vacations, and more time taken up with gadgets, I just think someone somewhere is missing the whole point. Living life, a complete life, is much more important than how much one produces.
Some people are truly amazing and can produce a LOT while still maintaining relationships, health, and happiness. But they’re the exception.
So I’m going to cheer you for “dragging your feet,” and suggest that some other people need to get a life. 🙂