Full Disclosure

Remember back in January when I announced that I had finished my book on family liturgy? That was true. It was also true that the manuscript had been turned over to some folks for "editorial comment" and that a Writer Friend had offered to read it and pass it on (should it so merit) to his agent.

But in the weeks since the feedback has been collected I have been talking about working on it more than actually working on it. I've gone beyond even my considerable powers of procrastination to not work on it. Since Writer Friend has been promised a manuscript by the time he returns from a book tour (at the end of the month) I have to deliver. I'm not a lying liar.

Every day, for weeks, I've risen with the intention of working on it and every day I don't.

Today was no different. I took my morning coffee out in the kitchen garden. The air was cool and vernal, the light was dappled. It was a perfect, fresh-start sort of morning. Well-rested, clear-headed and properly caffinated I asked myself, somewhat boldly, "Self, what is the hold-up?" Myself is not used to such direct confrontation and was caught off-guard by the frankness of the query. But after a few nonplussed moments, Myself answered:

"I'm tired of this book. After 10 years I'm ready to send it off to its fate. I don't want to work on it anymore".

Those of you with more experience at the writing thing might well have answered Myself with, "Well, so then, you're done. Be done". Ah, but you see, I can't do that. Because it was a work-in-progress over a 10 year period, the voice in the book changes. And the difference in that voice between the early stuff and the latter stuff is glaring. GLARING. It has to be fixed. And sure, maybe it could be fixed in editing, assuming that it was accepted for publication. But I think it is so glaring a problem that it could adversely affect the publication odds.

The good news is that, in taking time to think about it, I also realized how to fix it, which was most of the battle. Now it's just taking the time.

As long as I'm confessing let's add that I'm a freaking hypocrite. I stand over The Child like a fishwife, hectoring her about school work when she probably got the procrastination gene from me. Of course, I have to hector her but it's that whole "do as I say, not as I do" thing. I'm not exactly credible on this point. Not that she knows this. She has no idea. Which is what makes it so hypocritical.

Enough. Time to look to my Muse and ask, "What Would Jane Austen Do?" She'd stop bitching, belly up to her writing desk and start writing, that's what. She sure as shootin' wouldn't fire up a game of "Age of Mythology".