My spring semester writing class has started and I’m now face-to-face with the thing I craved the most for my writing: deadlines. First assignment is due on Thursday. So. My hand is forced. I must write. The ambition is there, but the stark reality is as DFW says:
You know, the whole thing about perfectionism–the perfectionism is very dangerous, because of course if your fidelity to perfectionism is too high, you never do anything. Because doing anything results in–It’s actually kind of tragic because it means you sacrifice how gorgeous and perfect it is in your head for what it really is.
This first assignment, it is in my head, and it feels perfect now. But will it be perfect when I put it down to paper? And is that what’s preventing me from writing even now? Or is it the thing I always claimed as a superpower when I was active on the dating scene: “the ability to slack with the power of a thousand radioactive sloths.” Or maybe I’ve been spending too much time in “that orthogonal machine“?
So now I’ve posed a question. I don’t have an answer, but I do have a homework assignment. Christ, what an unsatisfactory way to end a post.