As part of my official pre-column procrastination ritual, I filled out a Department of State survey about passport services. Means of selection, random. Expiration date, 12/31/2014. You’re welcome, Department of State!
My good workplace imported a real-live fountain of reportorial and editorial wisdom, Jacqui Banaszynski, to train us. She asked if any of us procrastinate before we write. Hands went up.
She described her own process, which involves ever deeper levels of cleaning, until her baseboards shine. She described a colleague who could only write with shoes off and feet sideways in a desk drawer. It seems we are as quirky and superstitious as old-time ball players.
So my resolution is this: I ain’t going to feel guilty about anything less than crimes or meanness. I ain’t going to sweat it.
If it’s 4:21 pm EST (it is) and my story is due at 6, hey, it’s part of my creative process.
If my waistline is approaching Mrs. Claus levels (it is), I shall continue to admire the imaginary French who eat elegant portions of rich and esthetically pleasing things. But I shall remain an American who eats inelegant portions. I will let my Martha Stewart flag fly.
