I’ve spent a few years meeting deadlines and I thought I’d never be able to let them go. It seems I’ve done so quite easily and to my cost. My first book has broken all the deadlines under the sun – right to the very end.
Previously, my life was governed by time; from minute to weekly deadlines. I didn’t mind and assumed I would continue, a bit like an automaton, but with just fewer deadlines. Old habits die hard, don’t they? But without a morning train to catch or an early start in an office, deadlines have become nearly non-existent.
The fact that my deadlines keep shifting could be because I’m working on what is my first book – I certainly hope so. And the past year has been fairly disruptive in terms of accommodation.
But as everything has slowed down I think I should revive old practices and reimpose time on my life.