Working on my book manuscript is reminding me of writing my dissertation. There’s the same procrastination, a misdirection of the writing energy into other projects; the same good feeling of flow once I overcome that urge; the same amazement when I look back at stuff I wrote a month ago and think, “Huh, that actually does read well and make sense.” Intermittently, there’s the same what’s-it-all-worth-it’s-gonna-suck-I’m-a-phony fear that needs to be assuaged. I presume that’s normal—it sure is for dissertation writers.
The years of copy editing I’ve done since writing the diss have influenced my writing style. I’m finding myself editing as I go, which makes for slower progress. Still, it’s happening. In 2000, I had Lily’s impending birth as my deadline. This time, there’s a real date deadline. Back to work.