My productivity is shit.
Nothing rubs that in like some of the profiles Duane Swierczynski ran on his Secret Dead Blog under the header Legends of the Underwood. Richard Bachman (Stephen King), Richard Matheson, Gil Brewer… these guys wrote novels in three days.
Now that’s dedication to the craft. Here I am with an $1800 laptop, fancy word-processing software, and a laser printer, and I haven’t produced a complete novel in three years. A comic script and a novella or two, sure, but not a novel.
I’ve been sitting here trimming the DVR list, figuring out which programs I can do without. Meanwhile, these guys probably never turned on the TV. They put their asses in the chair and put their fingers on the keyboard. Clickety-clickety-clickety for hours on end, take a nap, repeat.
At least now I’ve got work due. I signed two contracts this week, which means there’s people expecting work. It means if I lock myself in my office, I’m not wasting time anymore. It’s something.
Is it enough?
Time will tell.