Deadlines are boundaries with intention

How long is a piece of string?

Every day I write this blog, and if by chance the morning is busy, which it often is, with calls to global locations, then the blog must be written in advance.

My book, on the other hand, 70,000 words written in weeks over Christmas, languishes. The piece of string loooonnnggg…….

Not any more. A deadline has been created by another, to which I agreed. It serves me, and the book.

It is not about perfection. No book is…for tomorrow the world will be different and the field into which it is to arrive has breathed out and in in the interim. 

It is about getting the work complete for now, and birthed into the world.

I need the deadline.

What art work of yours languishes in the dusty halls of the liminal? 

How might you create a deadline? A real one. With consequences?

Even if my book adds a positive effect to a small handful of people, better this than never being read, never being born. Never knowing the satisfaction of doing the hard work of birthing your art.

Photo taken July 16th, 2019


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