But now it's done, it's over, we've had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. (Samuel Beckett, as used in Luciano Berio's Sinfonia)
It's true — I have completely finished Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy, exported the print file, and sent it to the publisher.
No, I don't know when you can give me money, but I'll let you know.
This was Wednesday afternoon, and I felt as if I had been beaten: all that tension of ABANDONMENT with nowhere to go.
Then yesterday, when I should have turned right around and started composing RED DRESS, I just kind of dawdled: cleaned up the study (a bit), surveyed the labyrinth, went to Backstreet Writers at Backstreet Arts, and even wrote a scurrilous 100-Word Rant about not getting right back to work.
However, I have to remember the Lichtenbergian motto: Cras melior est — Tomorrow is better. Anthony Trollope, the great Victorian novelist, would write for three hours every day. (Before the days of even typewriters, he literally wrote for three hours every day.) If he finished a novel before the three hours were up, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and started a new novel. This is the antithesis of Lichtenbergianism, and I for one will not betray our high ideals.
I'm in trouble enough for actually finishing the book.