Perfectionism and Writer’s Block
/My novel isn’t written yet.
I planned to finish it ages ago. Like any good former Catholic schoolgirl, I followed all of the best getting-stuff-done advice:
- Set daily goals for my word count.
- Gave myself firm deadlines.
- Asked friends to keep me accountable.
- Hired a life coach.
- Made spreadsheets, for goodness sake.
Something wasn’t working, though. Those deadlines came and went. I told myself I didn’t have enough free time, so last September I quit my job, hoping that the additional time and energy—not to mention the making-a-living sword dangling over my head—would spark brilliant sentences from my fingertips.
I even did visualizations, indulging in elaborate daydreams of typing “The End,” uncorking champagne, and receiving congratulatory hugs from friends and family and my agent. (No, I don’t have an agent, but it was my visualization, so I made it damn good.)
Well, none of that worked. Sixteen months after starting my novel, I’ve drafted about 55,000 words. Some of those words are good, some of them are dreadful, and I’ve been stuck around the 50,000-word mark for way longer than I’d care to admit.
So what happened?

I have a big birthday coming up soon—you know, one of those birthdays that ends with a 0 and makes you reassess your entire life.
Recently, I drew up a list of things I'd like to do before the birthday in question. Some items on the list are serious (for example, sending letters of atonement to people I've hurt), and others are downright silly. So if you see me picking apples or riding a bicycle with a basket in the next few months, you'll know why.
I've taped a copy of the list to my kitchen cupboard—yes, the joys of living alone—so it's hardly top secret. One item in particular seems to surprise friends and family members who visit.
Do a month-long shopping ban...