Rush Rush Rush…Where are my Brakes
|photo credit: pinterest.com|
The art of rushing started in Elementary school. Rushing to wake up and getting ready in the morning. Rushing through my day and lunch to get to recess. I remember the horror of swallowing a Dorito because I had to get on that playground, and it got stuck in my throat. Thank goodness for the sweet lunchroom lady who saved me with a biscuit, which pushed that Dorito wedge free. :0) And why didn’t I learn my lesson back then?
I rushed through High school to get on with my life. I had to get to college, where I rushed to get out, filling my schedule with 18 hours of courses, mixes of art studio and history and squeezing in part time jobs of all sorts to pay some of the bills. I rushed to find a job, landing the worst first job of my life, a door-to-door salesman of various marketing projects and I talked myself out of almost every deal I almost made.
To this day, I still rush. Having kids helped. Being with babies, you have your hands and eyes on them at all times. You’re tired. You try to steal a few moments just for you when you can, but most of the time, in the moments you have, you sleep or you clean. :0)
I’m trying not to rush so hard. My husband is teaching me the art of unplanning my weekends. I like it. I like letting the moment of the day carry me, even though I still bite my nails at times, with the itch to plan.
I’m thinking about rushing today, because I’m noticing how the past history of rushing physically has worked its way into how I write. I want action. I want to move each chapter so bad, I’ve forgotten one important point: slow can be fast. So this revision of my book is all about teaching myself the art of pace and how sometimes the subtle clues, the brief tastes of the unknown can be just as edgy and creepy as full blown action.
So what’s my plan?
I’m working by studying what I love about writing and reading. I’m rereading some of favorite books, and I’m paying extra careful attention to what they do that draws me in. The feelings I feel when I read a really great sentence. That’s what I want. Great sentences, a great pace, where I paint a slow picture where one becomes lost in the beauty, and then suddenly you blink. You see something bizarre and you stare. You can’t stop staring.
Do you find yourself rushing? What do you do to slow yourself down? I’d love to hear it.