Tackling the Elephant

My spirit animal is a sloth; things don’t get done very quickly around here. Procrastination is an activity in itself and the slightest decision takes on monumental proportions. But that’s all OK because I’ve read a book about introverts and extroverts (I think it was The Successful Self, by Dorothy Rowe, HarperCollins 1996) and it said that introverts prefer to spend time thinking about things, rather than taking part in physical activities, whereas extroverts are doers, who aren’t terribly comfortable with introspection. I felt vindicated: I’m not a lazy bastard, more a thoughtful, slow-moving kind of a body - a ‘thinker’ rather than a ‘doer’.  I’m not really a vigorous, active sort of body; more a contemplative one. See how long it’s taken to even express that thought…

Some things are better off when there’s a lot of thought and reasoning gone into them - perhaps fewer countries would be invaded and more clemency would be exercised, if people thought about things more. And those drunken texts wouldn’t get sent, if you took a moment to consider whether you really wanted to say all of that…

The downside to all of this, of course, is that shit doesn’t get done. Or, if it does, it takes ages (and ages and ages) to get done.

When I discussed a particular, sprawling, overwhelming task with a friend of mine, (of trying to overhaul the first draught of my ‘novel’) she said that a lecturer of hers had told her; “You have to eat the elephant one slice at a time.” (I haven’t eaten meat for a long time but I’d imagine elephant to taste a little bit like overcooked and very dry roast beef.)

This year; rather late for a New Year’s resolution (but thoroughly in keeping with the theme of taking time in doing things) I’ve made a resolution to be more active. I’m going to put my work out there more, not overthink things, take more risks and galvanize myself.

My first step was writing to a magazine and proffering my services. My insides shrivelled with embarrassment, as I wrote them a letter, singing my own praises....eurgh! (Why is it so hard to sell yourself? Why is self-deprecation the default stance - not just for me but for many women? Yes, I know some men find it tough too - perhaps it's a British thing..? A class thing...?) But - they asked to see some stuff I'd written, asked for some pitches. I tried not to get my hopes up, tried hard to quash the images of myself sashaying into editorial meetings.
And...after all that it was a knock-back... But, BUT, I will get back on the horse. I’ve eaten my first slice of elephant. And, because I’m a vegetarian, let’s just say that it was an elephant made out of fudge.

(And that sprawling novel? Still languishing in a [virtual] drawer.)