Time Transfer

Dr. Crazy noted that the Reverb project seems to ask the same questions over and over. That may be why I keep coming back to the same responses over and over.

In doing the project, participants ultimately should reflect upon the past year while also looking forward to and planning for the next year. Well, I reflect constantly. It's what I do. Action for the next year? Well, I make resolutions pretty much semesterly. I can also plan the hell out of something to the point that the planning itself gets in the way of making the something happen. So, the project was not unknown territory to me. I can draw a map in 3-D of it. I had no goal going in other than to play and to work a little on the discipline of writing every day.

In writing in such a disciplined way on this Reverb project, and perhaps also because similar types of questions kept cropping up, I couldn't ignore this one, bass-line bitch of my life from whence all other bitching emerges. In fact, in listening to that bass-line bitch, I realized that I am actually avoiding doing something about that bitch by participating in the Reverb project.

You see, I keep coming back to "I need time to write." "I need time to write." "I need time to write." Yet, here I am taking 30 minutes to an hour to compose a post that says, "I need time to write." Might I write what I am lamenting being unable to write during that time? Might that time be that coveted time to write?

Well, not exactly, but almost. As I first wrote, I can bullshit my way through any justification of what I'm doing. I blog, therefore, I'm writing, therefore, blogging in constructive. I'm not going to deny that. I tend to believe that any writing is an empirical good as an exercise. Still, it's not going anywhere. Blogging is just fun. A hobby. I need to be more focused on the book writing.

I use this excuse for spending this time on blogging rather than the book. If you've ever written anything long and complicated, you know that a few minutes here and there becomes very frustrating very quickly. Sporadic writing means that you lose your train of thought or you have to refresh yourself on the material you are writing. Then, the groove! You have to get into the groove! (Dammit. Now the Madonna song has morphed into an earworm.) You need about two hours to be marginally productive and generate some sort of forward motion. At least, I do. If I don't have two hours, minimum, then any writing at all on the book becomes futile. I end up waiting to have those two or more hours in a row for several days on end to really write. A good weekend is nice, one with no other commitments. Don't get me wrong: this is possible. Just not after about the mid-term.

Then, I realized how much time I have been taking for Reverb, and I realized that I have actually exercised some discipline in making and using that time. Perhaps that time could be put to a different use, one spent addressing the topic that kept cropping up. Perhaps I should transfer that time spent on reflecting and bitching about how little time I have to write to time actually spent on the book. Furthermore, perhaps I should not think of this particular writing time, now spent on the book, as moving the project forward. Instead, I should consider it a means of keeping my head in the project so as not to lose as much of the thought process between the blocks of productive writing time.

That's what I'm going to do -- or try to do. Let's see how it goes.

Meanwhile, a few months ago I submitted an article to an academic journal. Not one of the huge ones, but one about a step below that, one that specializes in a period of time rather than ALL of American history. They sent it to three readers. Today, I got the responses. Well, I tell you, I was a total weenie about reading them. I actually forwarded them to the Gentleman Caller and asked him to take a peek to see how bad they were.

Meanwhile, I laughed at myself for being such a coward. After all, I have been saying all semester that going to conferences, and presenting papers, and going to the archives, and pretty much anything else related to being a professional historian makes me feel like just that: a professional historian. A grown-up. Well, part of that is also this: taking the criticism on the chin.

I forget that criticism is not always hostile. I forget that the readers sometimes actually do want you to realize the best article that you can write based on what they are reading. The editor had said that the responses were all over the map, but really, they weren't. One wanted me to push the big picture. One wanted me to cut some stuff that was nothing particularly new. One thought it was pretty much fine, with some tweaking. I can fix all of that.

The final verdict? "Revise and resubmit." Not a Happy Snoopy Dance as yet, but the editor said that they hope that I do revise and resubmit because it is the kind of article that would appeal to their readers. I don't care if they tell all of their "revise and resubmit" authors that. I'm counting this as a small victory, maybe a Happy Snoopy Clap, or a Happy Snoopy Tapping Foot, or even a Happy Snoopy Chair Butt-wiggle.