Still trying to slay that dragon

Don’t be a Perfectionist. It will only lead to procrastination. And you know where that gets you quickly: NOWHERE!! Life’s too short–take a chance, make a mistake. You will still be loved, maybe even more than if you insist on being perfect.

I’ve never been a fan of the telephone. Before caller ID flashed on our television screen, before it flashed on just the telephone display, back when you didn’t know who was on the other end of the line, my husband or one of our daughters would have to answer the damn thing.

As for me picking up the phone and initiating a call? Not unless there was absolutely no other means of communication available.

Apparently I haven’t outgrown this. Yesterday waiting with my mother for her appointment with her cardiologist, I looked across the hall and spotted a fellow DAR member (Darlene) who has just moved back to the area and lacks email or internet service. The only means of remote communication with her is via the telephone. Darlene: I’ve been waiting to hear back from you. Me, vaguely gesturing toward my mother: I’ve been busy, sorry. (I couldn’t very well tell her about my issues with the telephone. The mental health department is right down the hall.)

Was I confident that if I waited long enough I would run into Darlene—who lives thirty miles away from me in another state? No, I’m not that bad. I would have called her. Eventually. When I couldn’t put it off another minute. And I mean minute.

Once again, with our random meeting, I was rewarded for my procrastination.

Stuart Little

I remember the first time I procrastinated. Not everyone remembers their first time, I bet. Second grade. My “Stuart Little” book report was due. It wasn’t a written book report. We had to dress up as a character for an oral presentation to the entire class. I pretended to be sick and stayed home from school.  After a day spent in bed moaning whenever my mother checked on me, the book report went well, mouse tail and all.

Once upon a time I was a teen. I eagerly awaited the ringing of the phone followed by long conversations when I stretched the curly telephone cord to its ironed length to talk to my friends, especially boyfriends, away from the watchful ears of my parents.

Then something happened and the Perfectionist switch was turned on full-time.

I have analyzed my extreme dislike of the telephone. Clearly I am more comfortable with the written word. I can edit my response, I can let it ferment, I can make certain that all information is accurate. I can be a perfectionist when I talk to people in writing. On the phone (or in person), who knows what will—or has—come out of my mouth.

My writing battle with perfectionism and procrastination should be well known to you by now. I still am trying to slay that dragon.

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About Karen Whalen

A contemporary fiction writer with an accumulation of incomplete novels and short stories, I consider NH "home," spending the summer through Christmas there with my husband. My youngest daughter and her family live nearby (as well as my mother and other family members). January finds us venturing to VA to visit our middle daughter and her family before we make our way to sunny AZ to live with our oldest daughter and family. We spend time in VA on our way home. I am fortunate that my daughters live in places I would have retired to all on my own! My 87 year-old mother asks if I will finish my novel (which one, I wonder) before she dies.....Even with that for a goal, I manage to excel at procrastination!

Posted on July 22, 2017, in blogging, Karen Whalen, Thursday Night Writes, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Ooh, I sense a plot twist here. What turned on the perfectionist switch? Or better yet, how many possible combinations of events can we come up with that would make that event plausible to a reader? Let’s see… how about an instance of procrastination that had a startling and painful result? Such as… Work with me here, folks….

    Like

  2. Eleanor Ingbretson

    Stuart Little was one of my very favorite books when I was little. I read it over and over. It was one of my intros into fantasy along with Dr. Doolittle and The Borrowers and scads more. I loved getting away from reality (probably shows, huh). But, I never had to do a book report or, even worse, and oral report on any of them. They were my very own and I wasn’t sharing.
    I avoided school for other reasons. Reality had something to do with that.
    Maybe you need to write the ends first?

    Like

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