And so it begins

It is so hot! Well into the thirties. Too hot to do anything. Too hot to be wearing clothes, really, but that would be illegal.

I am freaking out completely. I've gone through the book slashing and burning, getting rid of everything I don't think I need, and I am left with scraps that need to be re-knitted together to form something of an entirely different shape. It is depressing, because my beloved book is lying in pieces on the floor. It is exhilarating, because I know that it is going to be a better book once I'm finished. Most of all, though, it is overwhelming, and I'm kind of a wreck today. I'm changing so much! It's terrifying! It requires a lot of exclamation marks!

I have written out an outline of the 'new' book - the new shape I think it should take. It is a much more novel-like shape. It's fun to listen to my brain throw up all the excuses it can to escape working on these changes.

"Ooh, I've suddenly had a brilliant idea for a painting/sewing project/song that I need to get started on RIGHT NOW. After all, that's creative, right? I mean, I shouldn't put off something CREATIVE."

"Good lord, that patch of wall I've been staring at has a mark on it. Not only do I need to spend fifteen minutes getting it out, I also need to go all around the house looking for other marks to erase. Even some that are invisible to the naked eye."

"I'll just pop out and have a look at my local op-shop. Just to have a quick break."

"Hey, someone's updated their blog. I'm going to take a quick look ..."

"Time for another pot of coffee."

"Oh god, I'm such a failure. I'm going to go and think about what a failure I am for fifteen minutes."

"The house is a mess. I can't work when it's a mess. I'd better just get everything cleaned up first."

"I'm hungry! For something very specific that requires a trip to the supermarket!"

"There's no way I'll ever make it as a writer. I'm going to spend an hour updating my CV and looking on job websites for jobs that I would never apply for in a million years."

I'm kind of interested to see what form my resistance is going to take this week. I'm sure it will appear. It usually takes the form of an eye infection, for some reason, but it has also manifested itself as insane busy-ness, a recurrence of panic attacks, a crisis of some kind. Today I have been crazily restless - tapping fingers, jigging my knee up and down, wiggling my feet, trying to restrain myself from jumping up and doing something. It would be quite entertaining to watch if there was a hidden camera, I would imagine. I think 90% of writing discipline is keeping your bottom firmly attached to the seat.