I think I need to slow down. This is not really a welcome idea, since I have always excused my sloppiness on the basis that I am, at least, fast.
I have slipped into the habit of typing more of my work directly. It’s faster. Which means that my ideas stream out faster and I’m less likely to abort in the middle of a sentence when it occurs to me that the end of it might not be as brilliant as it seemed at the beginning. Kind of like this whole concept, actually. But I haven’t got to the reform part.
Some parts of life have to be fast. I have to move pretty quickly of a morning to magic everyone off to school with at least a shot at cleanliness and breakfast. The faster I drive in the afternoon, the less likely it is that someone will get murdered in my car. But, see, there’s one of those things: dying in a fiery car crash still means someone ends up dead.
Perpetual motion probably won’t save me. There doesn’t seem to be a gold star available for breaking the sound barrier while folding laundry. The Pulitzer committee most likely doesn’t care whether a work was written quickly, except maybe in journalism, since that timely thing is important.
Back to the pen and ink and paper for a while. Not that I’m giving up typing after I write. Unless I take up scanning…