Productive me

I've done something I haven't done in a very, very long time - I stayed at home for two solid days (minus going out to college and buying groceries) and spent the most productive time writing, cleaning, organising...

... and there just seems no end to it.

After two days of general sorting-out stuff, this is a picture of one half of my L-shaped room... and I swear I have been cleaning it. If you look at the bottom right-hand corner of my room, behind where those magazines are in the foreground, was originally a stack of newspapers stacked at least 4 feet high.

I laboured through all of them - picking out those stories I needed for research... prisoners, gambling, casinos, ID cards, Rupert Murdoch interview, Opus Dei, ooh, and yes, a nice cut-out of a tasty-looking Brad Pitt... (although I must say, I'm starting to find him considerably less attractive ever since he left Anniston) Anyway, I've done that now and junked all the newspapers - at which my flatmates actually said you mean ALL THAT has been in your room all this time? Oh, the scorn.

I still have to pick particular spots on my floor in order to walk from my door to my table but I assure you this will be sorted soon... there's only so much one can do at once! I'm happy to announce that I actually got all my re-writing sorted and my course-work file, due this friday, is looking good. I'm actually ahead of deadlines... a rarity, only slightly short of a miracle for me, but let's not talk too much about it in case I jinx it.

After a week at PM, I was actually quite sad to leave. Everyone there was nice and friendly. We even went out for drinks on Thursday and got slightly pissed. The editor had a really charming face, not at all in a sleazy way, but more like the sort of feeling you get when you meet a friend's Dad and you can tell immediately he's a nice, decent, funny bloke.

I was also pleasantly surprised by my ability to bang out the average of 3/4 news stories a day, something I used to do with greater difficulty, but now I'm finding it actually quite enjoyable. And I've got another story to be published within a month. (yay)

Which leads me to conclude...

I think I have finally mastered the greatest skill (in writing) of all... RUTHLESSNESS.

Or at least part of it. It only comes with time and experience and boy did I use to struggle those lonely nights (and mornings, and afternoons) in front of my computer trying to include too much information, agonising over the words, re-structuring the paragraphs... It now finally seems easier for it to fall into place. Simply because I'm now more ruthless. Nothing is now too precious, and you tend to know what you should exclude immediately, whereas in my more amateur days, it was not quite as obvious to me.

I'm not being complacent. This is only one aspect of writing. There's too much still to go, but at least I feel some inner development. I mean, I would be wasting my time if I didn't. And I don't like to waste time. Believe what you will.

What pisses me off most is so many people think writing is a piece of piss. Writing is, actually. Good writing isn't. I guess it's much easier to write now, I agree, with the whole blogger/citizen journalism explosion thing going on. But too many underestimate the training required for this profession. It's not something you can just bang out and expect to be published. It's all a matter of writing for audiences, understanding the medium, or more broadly, the industry... so many dimensions I can't even begin to articulate, which is probably why I get half-annoyed, half-exasperated, half-smug-beyond-belief whenever my boyfriend says he could do my job anyday.

It's not just all about the writing. And even then, I promise you it is really harder than it looks!

Sigh... right, sorry about the rant. I shall now stop going on about my job. It's something I've resolved to live with, a cross I can't not bear.

I realised the other day in mute horror that I am now reluctant to write - on paper, that is. I have taken for granted that I now type faster than I can write, so when I'm not near a computer, but I'm dying to write something, the inertia to use a pen and paper is so great, I end up not writing anyway. By which time when I get to a computer, I've forgotten what I wanted to say. Oh the complexities of modern life!

Over and out...