Mr Prolific

This is a hats-off to Tumblemoose. I think regular readers will have noticed that Alaskan George posts his blogs the same time every week, month in month out. All are very well-written, entertaining, informative, and concern topics highly relevant to both the aspiring and established writer.

This man is prolific. Especially when you consider he fits these into what I gather is already a packed writing schedule and a busy life as a single dad.

Truth be told, I’m a little in awe. Not only do I sometimes struggle to find my topic of the week, but it usually ends up being my topic of the fortnight. I should really be posting once a week, but I’m damned if I can get into gear so regularly. Also, my posts often meander into areas only tenuously related to freelance writing; putting the world to rights more than putting the world to write.

One problem is the lack of a deadline. Or, rather, I should say, an enforced deadline. Monika has always been really cool about my blogs, letting me write what I want and not kicking my butt if I’m late with one. It’s a cool gig. Unfortunately, with me, if you remove a deadline from the equation, I get lazy. My professional writer’s head is replaced by my dreamy, arty-farty writer’s head. Suddenly I’m imbibing iced sangrias on the balcony in my silk cravat and smoking jacket, musing on the myriad hues of the dimming sunset. I shall write when the mood takes me, dahling, and not a moment before.

When I have a deadline, I write immediately. And, apart from grabbing a little sleep, I usually don’t stop writing until the job is done. I can finish a project with days to spare.

Being able to organise myself without a deadline is something I find increasingly more difficult as I get older. Spain doesn’t help. There is something in the air over here that murmurs mañana, mañana. I thought it was a myth before I moved here, but I am utterly afflicted by it now. I really can’t be arsed.

And so to Tumblemoose … what a dude. He’s what a freelance writer should be. First and foremost, he writes. Sounds simple, but there are too many writers who claim their title without the deeds to back it up. I have become one of them. I think I need to move to a colder climate, but I suffer terribly with me chilly feet when the mercury drops below 70.

To the balcony once more … to raise a glass to Señor Tumblemoose.