I thought it was going to be a quiet one today _ just the five of us here _ but something happened a few minutes ago, and now one of the editors is lamenting his soon-to-be-lost job. Gee whiz, what a cruel bizness.
But let's not talk about that anymore. Let's talk about time management. I told my shrink (or analyst, if you'd prefer this was the '60s and I was, say, Jack Parr) that I'm now able to visualize the moment when I choose whether to write or not write. It's like standing at the corner of Milwaukee and North and Damen and having the choice to go to Myopic Books or maybe get something to eat at Sultan's Market or STOP STOP STOP BAD METAPHOR. RESTART.
Really, it's nice to be in touch with free will. I'm not saying I'm any more in touch with it than anyone else, but I'm trying to be a more efficient writer, and that requires becoming intimate with one's own procrastinative impulse (my analyst's term). If you can pin down the exact moment when "I'm going to write a Pulitzer Prize-winning play!" becomes "Pistons-Pacers game six--It's FAN-tastic!" you've gained a little more perspective on what we call the creative life.
Now, if you'll excuse me, there's an '81 Astros-Phillies game on ESPN Classic tonight _ Niekro vs. Carlton. I've made my choice.