24 January 2009

Experimented this month with telling myself, when I'm drifting-- "Focus!" And then focusing on the task at hand. It helps. Drifting wasn't daydreaming exactly. It's numbness from overload [insert long backstory here] or it's odysseys through the Web and its news, like trying to find out what John Updike died of. My Updike story: Another writer and I, back in our 20s, strolling in our paradise of Harvard Square bookstores, spotted John Updike -- he'd just passed us on the sidewalk. "I hate his books," said my friend. "I hate his books too," I replied. We turned around and yelled after him, "We hate your books!"

But I was talking about focus. It helps to say it aloud or have it on a Post-It. With this discipline, production and revision improved vastly. Now and then one must relax, but I do that 75 percent less than formerly, and do it consciously. Life is short and art is long. It seems that focus fits them together.

Note: 21 July 2011: In late January 2009, my former husband, whom I'm caring for, is dying of cancer; he will die February 6. My "boyfriend" broke up with me. I can't stop crying. I'm working and teaching two night classes. Meet Me is in production and I'm trying to get it proofread and finalized and get copyright permissions from 13 writers. My left breast is looking odd (it will be diagnosed and removed in May 2009). I was still writing?! And telling myself to focus!