Deadlines . . .

I need deadlines, a target, a goal, a commitment . . .

It doesn't mean I will make them. One of my favorite quotes from my of my favorite writers:

“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”

― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

Mine don't whoosh so much, because I get to set them myself. To some degree. (I don't freelance because I would starve but I pitch stories to my employers, and then am expected to write them.)

When there is a space to fill that I might have a story for, I get reminded that a story is expected to fill a particular space.

Then, and unfortunately, only then, I draw in all the threads of the tale that have been roaming free in my mind, try to identify the strongest and track down it's supporting friends. I love it, I love writing, I love finding what it is about each story that might ("might") grab the reader's interest and hold them, but I'm really bad at doing it without a deadline.

So, tonight, I took a "rest" day from my gym, baked brownies, made curry and texted my subject with questions that the deadline made seem more important. I already have all the background - now it's about making it sexy (newspaper sexy, that isn't actually sexy).

I have a deadline.

I have to deliver.