Meet Clive

A few of you pointed out yesterday that my Busman's holiday seemed to be a direct contradiction to my previous post about taking it slowly and relaxing my workaholic grip on things, which is an excellent point. In a funny way, working on two projects is part of trying to let go a little more - usually, when embroiled in a project that needs finishing, I would feel far too guilty taking time out to do anything else, and that critical voice would be sitting on my shoulder lecturing me every step of the way. I have already felt him creeping in with the for-fun project. I can't get away from the little bugger. Luckily, with this one, he finds it a lot harder to get my attention (yes, he's a He) because it is ... well, for fun.

Meet Clive, my critical voice.

Clive is tall and thin, with grey hair and rimless glasses that he perches on the end of his nose. He is always smartly dressed in a bow-tie and waistcoat, and he is fanatical about keeping correct time (he has a fob-watch in his waistcoat pocket for that purpose). He has very clear ideas about Good Taste (his taste) and Bad (other people's). He is a picky eater and has allergies. He only ever wears colours that match. He loves accuracy in all things and demands high typing speed and no errors, even stopping you mid-sentence to correct your grammar or point out a mistake. He does not like to take risks. He carries band-aids, aspirin and smelling salts in his pockets. He keeps his hair combed and parted perfectly down the middle. He wears sock-garters and puts sunscreen on his legs, even though they are covered by trousers all day long. He flosses after every meal. He disapproves of bright colours and loud music and spicy food. In fact, he disapproves of most things.

Clive can be very helpful in the editing process - particularly during line-editing. While I'm in the first throes of creation, however, and producing something of erratic quality at best, Clive is anything but helpful. For that reason, I am trying to learn to jar-train Clive, much as you would crate-train a puppy. When he tells me that this plot point will trip me up later or that sentence is clumsy, I simply pick him up by his ankle and drop him into the Jar of Silence, where he beats his tiny fists against the glass and continues to mouth insults at me.

It has been a good exercise, working on a fun project - it makes me much more aware of what Clive is saying. And that guy really never shuts up. I'm hoping to learn to deal with these thoughts more consciously and productively, rather than just letting them sink in and making me feel discouraged.

Do you have a Clive? What's his/her name?

P.S. I have listed some more gorgeous vintage dresses on Etsy!