I’ve said it before… this is a marathon, not a race. And that means every I’m NOT at the computer or with pen and paper or thinking about material, I’m falling a step or two behind. And panic starts to set in. Has my imaginary rival finished their pilot? Have they broken the story? Are they working on a brand new idea? What am I doing watching The Killing while there is work to be done?
I imagine my imaginary rival is handsome guy, fashionably dressed in the ironic/iconic t-shirt of the day, and is up on all things fringey–comics, music, cyber-punk-urban-fantasy novels. He gets up, blogs, tweets, and then sets to work. Filling page after page brilliant material.
Hey… that’s beginning to sound like me….
…well… the me I would like to be.
And that’s the real case. This is a race with myself. But, if I don’t run it, I ain’t gonna finish it.
Now… I have some brilliant pages to write… after lunch.