On June 24, I wrote a post titled, "Getting More Done," in which I noted that I had produced an unusual number of pieces over a week and a half.
I'm writing now to report (to whom? whomever. Myself, that's good enough.) that since Monday, I have written three daily articles for the PG, four stories for a special section being published next week (all four written within 24 hours, between 6 p.m. yesterday and 6 p.m. today), four posts for "My Homewood," and four posts here. And now, make that five.
I said back in June, "I need to notice what I'm doing when I'm getting more done, and do more of that." As I look back over this, I don't know that I did anything special, I just did.
Even last night and today, I didn't engage in a bunch of ritual or hypnotize myself or NLP or Tony Robbins' thingamajoogee. I just reminded myself not to panic, told myself that I could do it, got permission to work from home, went up to my office, did not answer the phone most of the day, decided against playing any music, sunk into the silence, and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. Made a bunch of phone calls to try to clean up details, didn't get to talk to most of the people I was trying to reach, and wrote. And wrote.
I didn't feel like I was trying to work up some quasi magical energy or to reach a highly-motivated state. I just stepped aside from the pile of emotions that were ready to drop on me and crush my brain. Just stepped aside, and wrote.
When I get back home, I'll make the list of what I wrote this week. Right now, I'm at Greg's, and we're gonna watch "Superman Returns."