Avoiding Close Calls (#deadlines #stress #dreams)

By Lisabet Sarai

I dream about missing deadlines. My plane has already boarded, while I’m not even finished packing. I’ve got to teach a class in ten minutes, starting with the quiz I use to make sure everyone arrives on time, but I’m still half an hour from the university. Then there’s the classic anxiety dream where I realize I have an exam scheduled today, yet somehow haven’t studied or attended class for a full term —astonishing given how long it’s been since I graduated!

While these aren’t exactly nightmares, their regular recurrence testifies to my concern about the issue. In the real world, I work hard to avoid this sort of close call.

My DH and I are the kind of people who arrive at the airport more than the recommended two or three hours prior to departure, just in case we encounter some unexpected obstacles. I’ve spent a lot of time hanging around in airport restaurants, gates and lounges. On the other hand, in four decades traveling around the world, I’ve never missed a plane (though we almost didn’t make a connecting flight on a recent trip to China, due to poor planning on the part of the airline).

I spent sixteen years in school and university. In that entire period, I don’t remember ever turning in a late assignment—or “pulling an all-nighter”, as we used to call it. I’d start tackling homework or term papers the very day I learned about them. Now, when I have a commitment to produce some sort of work, I plan my schedule way ahead of time in order to make sure I can fulfill my promise. Occasionally I’ll experience problems and discover my effort estimates were too optimistic. I don’t react well to that sort of stress, as my long-suffering DH will attest. And when I have a challenging deadline, one I fear I can’t meet, I seriously suffer.

Not everyone is like me. (My students, in particular, seem to feel little distress about upcoming deadlines.) I’ve met people who seem to get a thrill out of living on the edge, cutting their margins to the absolute minimum, gleefully living one day at a time without concern for tomorrow’s looming responsibilities. I’d like to say that I envy them their lack of tension, but honestly, the prospect of being like that fills me with horror!

Our topic this fortnight is “Close Calls”. Some readers might argue that almost missing a deadline, or a plane flight, doesn’t capture the real meaning of the term. A close call, they’ll say, is a near-disaster that could not have been anticipated or avoided. My experience with the landslide in Peru, the subject of my post here when our topic was “Near-Death Experiences”, might qualify. Almost being discovered in flagrante by a parent or authority figure could be an equally good, though less severe, example. Having the condom break the day before you ovulated would definitely fit the topic. If you have any control, though, it’s not really a close call.

I’m not completely convinced. Obviously external circumstances cannot be predicted. The drunk driver who almost but not quite totals your car may be beyond your control. The earthquake that levels the town while you happen to be away on business; the fanatic who barges into the movie theater to mow down a dozen people, after you decide at the last minute to see a different film; the brick tumbling off a building that lands on the sidewalk two feet ahead of you; these all represent lucky escapes from dire events that could easily have impacted you. No deliberate action on your part could have prevented the terrible outcomes you barely avoided.

However, I think that some “close calls” are the direct result of the choices people make. People take risks, choosing to ignore the potential consequences. Indeed, risk can add to the excitement. I considered writing a quickie for this topic about having sex in a public place and nearly being caught. (I refrained, figuring Daddy X could do a much better job.) Without the danger of discovery, public sex wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

Some people prefer to push things to the limit. They don’t start on assigned work until the night before it’s due. They show up at the exit gate five minutes before it closes. They enjoy tempting fate.

Not me. I’m a pussy when it comes to stress. I recognized that I can’t control the universe, but I’ll do whatever I can to avoid close calls in situations where my actions make some difference.

Then I’ll write stories about those of you who dare to thumb their nose at danger. You’re much more interesting.

Yes Woman

By Lisabet Sarai

Our Grip topic for the next fortnight is “Weaknesses”. Now, there are a lot of ways one can interpret this (like most of our topics), but as is often the case, I’ll consider the most obvious: personal weaknesses, bad habits or character flaws.

Of course I have many—don’t we all?—but there’s one that seems to have become all too prominent recently. I have a low tolerance for stress, particularly stress induced by over-commitment. I absolutely hate the feeling of pressure that comes from having too many tasks to complete in what seems like too little time. I’ve been known to throw literal tantrums when faced with apparently impossible deadlines, screaming, crying, banging my fists on the table, tearing at my hair, hitting my head against the wall... Really, I’m not exaggerating. Fortunately, I don’t go to these extremes too often, but I’ve given myself sore throats and lumps on the skull in the past after allowing my panic to gain ascendancy. My poor husband (who’s much better at coping with stress than I am) tries to help, but I know he’s wondering just how his intelligent, competent partner suddenly became a shrieking madwoman.

I think I’ve always had this weakness, even as a kid. I’ve attempted to compensate by starting assignments early and planning my time well in advance. Through four years of college and four of graduate school, I never once did an “all-nighter”, nor did I ever turn in an assignment late. This wasn’t a reflection of virtue, but rather, of terror at the way I knew I’d react if I wasn’t on top of all my work.

The strategies I’ve employed throughout my life still function reasonably well. These days I have tasks in so many different realms—teaching, research, consulting, writing, editing, reviewing, marketing, and more. If I didn’t have a detailed to-do list, and a pretty clear vision of when I was going to tackle what, I’d drive myself (and my DH) crazy. I also try to set priorities. Marketing always comes last, for example. That’s partly because I know that no matter how much I do, it won’t make much difference!

Unfortunately, I have another weakness that tends to exacerbate the first: I can’t say no. When someone asks if I will take on some task or project, my first inclination is almost always to agree. Indeed, when I see the need for some work, I’m perpetually tempted to volunteer my time and effort—even if nobody has asked. I want to be helpful, especially in cases where I think a task is important. And I know, honestly, that I can do a better job than many other people who might agree, half-heartedly, to take on some work. Furthermore, exactly because I’m so terrified about not fulfilling my commitments, I know that I, at least, will get it done...somehow.

Like most weaknesses, this one’s a problem only when it manifests to excess. I believe that, in moderation, my willingness to make commitments is a desirable trait. (I see far too many people who expect that someone else will be responsible for solving all their problems.) My concern about following through is also a positive trait. There are few things worse than depending on someone else to get something important done, then having them drop the ball.

However, I’ve learned that I need to sit on myself, to refrain from raising my hand, to avoid putting myself in a position where I’ll have another tantrum. I need to remind myself that I have a finite number of hours in the day and also that my relationship with my DH is more important than any task that might beckon. When I go ballistic, as I’ve described above, it hurts him. I really don’t want to do that.

This week, I’ve already squelched a bunch of ambitious plans I was thinking about proposing: editing a new Coming Together book, offering a crit of a new author friend’s story, creating a set of trailers for all my books so that I can build a You Tube channel... The list goes on. My to-do list looks more manageable today than it usually does. I have to remind myself that’s not an excuse to take on more work.

Still, I’m so very tempted by that latest call for submission...

No. No. No, no, no.

That’s so difficult for me to say.

Take a Deep Breath

Photo found on Our Beautiful World and Universe

The arc of the southern Milky Way shone brightly on this starry night. Captured on May 4, in the foreground of this gorgeous skyview is the rainforest near the spectacular Iguaçu Falls and national park at the border of Brazil and Argentina. Looking skyward along the Milky Way's arc from the left are Alpha and Beta Centauri, the Coalsack, the Southern Cross, and the Carina Nebula. Sirius, brightest star in planet Earth's night sky is at the far right. Brilliant Canopus, second brightest star in the night, and our neighboring galaxies the Large and Small Magellanic clouds, are also included in the scene Much closer to home, lights near the center along the horizon are from Argentina's Iguazú Falls International Airport.

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The moon and Venus, taken with my iPhone on February 25, 2012.

“I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” ― Galileo Galilei

I have been in awe of the night sky since I was a little girl. I never had a urge to be an astronaut-- I like my feet firmly planted on the ground-- but to look at the sky through the lens of a telescope and imagine the vastness beyond our planet... that takes my breath away. I do not have a mind for math and science, but if I did I imagine I would have chosen a career studying the stars.

I am over committed this month and on a tighter deadline than I would like following a month of illness (mine, the babies, the babysitter). I am somewhat overwhelmed at the moment, but I will find my way through the darkness. When it all gets to be too much and the responsibilities and deadlines and demands-- and life in general-- feel like too much, I ind myself seeking out the night sky. Late at night when the world is asleep, I will go outside just as I have done since I was a little girl and stare up into that dark void filled with pinpricks of light. Looking for shooting stars, making wishes, watching the moonrise... it soothes me. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly... and send my worries out into the universe.

I have forgotten much of the astronomy I learned when I was younger, but I can still pick out Venus and the Big Dipper and a few other constellations and that comforts me. The stars never change, even as my life seems to be rushing by at a crazy pace. The stars are always there. Constants. Beacons in the night.

Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone

“All abo-o-ard!”

The conductor is announcing the departure of a venerable train that crosses the continent from Obscurity on one coast (home to the aspiring traveller) to Fame (the destination) on the other. There are luxurious cars for dining and sleeping, even gambling and card-playing. Drawn shades at windows might indicate Torrid Affairs being conducted en route.

There is nothing like a train as a traditional symbol of escape and adventure. When I was young, a train threw its poignant hoot against a layer of volcanic rock at the base of a mountain every evening as the shadows lengthened, and every evening, the echoes reverberated through the valley where I felt trapped in a house on the opposite side. “Woo-oo! Leaving here!” called the train while I dreamed of escape.

And now the train to Fame is leaving without me. I can’t possibly catch up. The wheels are already turning faster and faster as the big vehicle picks up speed. Had I arrived at the station five minutes earlier, I could have boarded. I could have been on my way. But I didn’t, and I’m not.

I missed the deadline.

In a marvellous anthology of steampunk erotic romance that I just finished reading (Steamlust, edited by Kristina Wright of this blog), the heroine of one story uses her auspiciometer (sp?) to determine the perfect moment for doing whatever she wants to do: meet the right gentleman, start or finish the calculations for an experiment, go shopping for a hat or a parasol or a pet snake. Her handy device shows her the perfect moment. This doesn’t necessarily mean she will always be in the right place at the right time. Even with the device, she might miss a deadline.

Pregnancy is the one project with a deadline which can never be missed. Due dates can be missed, of course; first pregnancies, in particular, are often several weeks early or several weeks late (if not induced). But the day of birth is the day of birth. Much as an expectant mother might prefer not to experience third-degree labour soon, today, or at this moment, contractions wait for no one.

Human-made deadlines are more like train departures. Once the train has gone, it’s no longer there.

Please! Wait for me!

I hate to be considered irresponsible and unreliable, so after I’ve made a reckless promise or six, I chase after deadlines like a stranded traveller chasing after the only train due to pass through the mountains all week, or the only ship that has come within sight of the desert island for months.

Where does time go? I should have written at least two more reviews this month (see the above reference to Steamlust, which sits atop Red Velvet and Absinthe, Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Princes of Air, Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme, and a volume of vintage gay-male erotica from the 1970s).

Then well-meaning fellow-writers and polite colleagues ask me what I’m writing now, meaning “Are you writing a short story, a collection of them or a novel, and why not?” Of course, I should have time for that. If I’m a real writer, inspiration should strike me regularly, like a gong (as in a notorious saying about how often women should be beaten).

Students who ask for extensions of deadlines for handing in essays want them to be graded and handed back between one class day and the next. What else could be more important to me?

Sinister characters like uncanny train conductors invade my dreams with signs reading “FRIDAY” or “NOVEMBER 30” or “TOMORROW AT THE LATEST.”

Then there are events like Pride Week in June (mentioned by Kathleen of this blog) which I managed to unload onto a new committee. Ha! Freedom! But it’s not complete. I wonder how well the new committee of twentysomethings will cope, and how responsible I’ll feel (as an elder of the tribe) if they drop the ball, or several.

But here is a strangely reassuring thought: every time I miss a deadline, a new one is coming up behind it. And with luck, I’ll miss the deadline (due date) for the end of my own life. Am I supposed to be on that train at age 96? Sorry, I’ll still have a few things to finish up first.
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Necessary Evil

By Lisabet Sarai



Well those drifter days are past me now.
I've got so much more to think about.
Deadlines and commitments,
What to leave in, what to take out.
~ Bob Seger, "Against the Wind"


I hate stress. I'm paralyzed when I have too many tasks on my to-do list, and too little time to complete them all. I've been known to scream, tear at my hair, literally bang my head against the wall under the influence of over-commitment stress. I really hate acting like that. (My husband hates it too.)

Paradoxically, I love deadlines. Well, perhaps “love” is a bit strong, but I heartily appreciate them. For me, deadlines are tools to avoid the kind of crazy misery described in the previous paragraph. When I have a set of dates associated with my tasks, I can begin to manage them. They cease to become looming disasters and turn into simple chunks of work that I can schedule according to priority and required effort.

For example, I have two new releases this month, so I've committed to doing more guest blogging than usual to promote them. My calendar shows seven guest blog appearances this month, in addition to my usual stint at Total-E-Bound's Hitting the Hot Spot, on the 17th, and of course my slots here at the Grip every Sunday. I made a point of spacing out the guest spots throughout the month: November 4, 8, 14, 16, 17, 19, 21 and 28. Also, as a blog host myself, I know that blog owners really like to receive post content from their guests at least a few days ahead of time. That allows me to establish a set of deadlines for each post, which I will obviously work on more or less in the order that they are due. At this point, I only have the last three to complete. Not to mention the Grip, posts for my own blog Beyond Romance, and my monthly website update/newsletter, but those I will slip into the interstices.

When I looked at my commitments at the start of November, I had a few hair pulling moments. What had I gotten myself into? Because I've also committed (to myself) that I will finish my novel in progress, Quarantine, by the end of November. (I figure I have about 20K to go.) And I told Alessia Brio I'd finally finish editing the next Coming Together Presents book. (I sent that off last week.) Plus I've taken on a project for my job that needs to be complete by the end of the month, as well. Earlier in the month, I really had to calm myself down. I needed to remind myself that worrying about one deadline while I'm working toward another is counter-productive.

That's why deadlines are a necessary evil. They help me focus. And they provide structure. If I have three works in progress, but no deadlines, how will I decide which to address first? If I've promised an editor that she'll have my story by the 15th of the month, well, that answers the question for me.

One thing I've learned about myself over the years: I have a low tolerance for ambiguity. I like to have at least the illusion of control, the feeling that I know more or less what's going to happen. (Given this orientation, my attraction to sexual submission may seem a bit odd, but perhaps it's an antidote to the control I require in the other areas of my life.) Deadlines help.

You probably won't be surprised to learn that in eight years of college and graduate school, I never, ever did an “all-nighter”. And I never turned in an assignment late.

I owe it all to deadlines. Well, maybe not all. But I'd rather have a deadline than be floundering in a quagmire of uncertainty, smothered by unruly commitments.

The Slacker Makes Deadline

What a timely topic, writing pressure. Ten minutes ago, I clicked SEND on my fourth anthology for Cleis Press. My deadline was yesterday (June 1), so I was a day late. Even though I love how the book turned out, I am still royally pissed at myself for missing my deadline. I never miss deadlines. Well almost never, obviously. So now I will obsess over that one day delay that means the difference (to me) between being a professional writer/editor and a lazy slacker.

Then there's this column. I should have started it days ago, a week ago even. But here I am, two hours before midnight, writing the words I've had in my head since I saw the topic. (Well, not these words. I had actually intended to write my post much sooner.) Slacker, my brain hisses. Why are you so lazy?

The pressure I feel as a writer/editor is purely self-driven. I suppose if I was chronic about missing deadlines, the pressure would come from editors and publishers. (I desperately hope there isn't an editor out there who would truly nag me for being one day past deadline, but I can't take that chance.) Of course, much of my writing is on spec, so if I'm late enough the deadline slips by and no one cares-- but me.

While it's very, very rare for me to miss an expected deadline, I have missed many, many self-inflicted deadlines. Contests, anthologies, conferences, promotional opportunities-- I have missed them all many times. It requires a tremendous amount of discipline to be a freelancer, but I still don't have as much discipline as I should-- or as much as I would like. (Slacker, slacker, slacker!)

It's hard not to compare myself to my peers. Especially those who are more productive than me. (Which seems to be all of them, some days.) Author X has written three novels in the past year, Author Y submitted four stories, six poems, two essays and ran a marathon this week and Author Z just signed a ten-book contract.

Or so it feels, sometimes.

Meanwhile, there are times (like before I clicked SEND a few minutes ago), when I feel like I have over-extended myself. Signed on for too many projects, signed too many contracts, taken on too much responsibility, said "Yes!" to too many people for too many things. I look longingly at the open files on my computer-- stories that aren't contracted, novel ideas that have languished for years, essays that will probably never see publication because I'm not a "nonfiction" writer. And then I still say yes to the next interview opportunity that will suck up an hour of my time answering questions about my favorite authors and what music I listen to while writing. Or yes to the reading event almost five hours from my house that will require at least an overnight stay and cost me both money and time. Or yes to a deadline that conflicts with another deadline.

Should I say no? I don't think so. I want to believe every opportunity I say yes to is beneficial to my writing and editing career. Interviews are actually kind of fun and reading events can be mini-vacations to recharge my creative energy and agreeing to publishing deadlines means I have a contract in hand-- which is always a good thing. Or at least, I like to think all of these opportunities are good for me. Because I don't want to start resenting these things that take time away from my primary job of writing and editing. I want them to benefit me and fulfill me, not drain me. But still, it's hard sometimes to know what will be good for my career and what will just drive me crazy. I'm still learning. (And I have a hard time saying no.)

The highs and lows of this career are as often dictated by luck as talent. Right place, right time. Knowing so-and-so's critique partner whose editor is acquiring just the type of book you write. Running an ad, holding a giveaway, giving an interview, writing a guest blog post-- any one of those can put a writer's name in front of the right editor. But doing all those things-- juggling all those balls-- takes away from the actual writing. And so I feel the pressure intensely to balance it all; to write, to edit, to promote, to sell, sell, sell-- not just my stories or my books, but myself.

It's not a skill I've yet mastered, this pimping of myself. In fact, it's a skill I have struggled with for years, doing a sort of uncomfortable push-and-pull between the creative side of me that wants to live in the ivory tower and just focus on writing and editing and the practical, business-minded side of me (a side I do have, even if I resist and resent it) that says if I want to keep writing and editing, I'd better make sure people know just how fucking fabulous I am. Eek. Now that's conceited, isn't it?

Pressure. I thrive under pressure, usually. I work best under deadlines. Which reminds me of something a screenwriting professor shared with my class one night: "I had a student who told me he wrote best under the pressure of a deadline," Bob told us. "I assured him, 'I've read your work. Trust me, no you don't.'"

Ha. Am I the only writer squirming uncomfortably?

I will continue to struggle with meeting my self-imposed deadlines even while I vow never to miss another contracted deadline. In fact, due to my impending baby-birthing, I intend to submit my next anthology well before the September 1 deadline. I sort of have to, as my due date is September 4 and I believe this baby will be born at the end of August. I will loathe the sense of pressure weighting me down when I look at the clock ticking toward a new day while the words stall on the page-- just as I will continue to push the limits of deadlines and enjoy the rush of satisfaction I get from pushing the SEND button (or PUBLISH POST button) just in time.

Like... NOW!

Sick, sick, sick!

by Jude Mason

No, not the perverted kind of sick, although that's not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps the title should have been Illness Intensified or something.

For years, when I was younger, I spend weeks with bronchial problems during the fall and winter months. When I got a cold, it went to my lungs. When I had flu, it was in my lungs. Also, when I was in my teens, I was sensitive to some moss in the area...yeah, I know, that's crazy...and yes, it went to my lungs as well. I guess I learned to ignore the wheezing and breathlessness after awhile. Surprisingly, I was a very active child and teenager and never spent time in hospital, never even saw the inside of a hospital until I was in my late teens.

They say that every seven years your body completely renews itself, and I believe it. From 0-7, I was pretty healthy. From 7-14, I had the moss sensitivity thing. From 14-21 I had bronchial issues. When I hit 21, my life took a turn for the best. No more lung problems, just raising kids and keeping a house, and all that entails. I remained very healthy then until I was in my late 40's.

I'm back to having a certain amount of lung issues. Also surprisingly, there's no damage to my lungs. I am just prone to congested lungs when I'm ill.

Now, do I write when I'm feeling like someone's sitting on my chest? You bet your sweet bippy I do. I may take a day or two off, but only if I'm really ill. Writing takes me out of myself. If I can immerse myself in a character, I'm not there. I become that person and can simply let my 'self' go. I may still cough or wheeze, but I don't actually hear it. I'm usually by myself so there's no one to ask, 'are you okay,' or 'do you want ...' it's just the character telling his or her story.

Deadlines might be a little more of a hassle if I'm not well. Or I allow them to become more stressful. I'm one of those people who never miss a deadline. So sick or well, I'll meet them. I have a feeling I might write femdom a little more aggressively when I'm not feeling well, but that's about it.

Anyone else have health issues they ignore, or can't ignore when they're under the weather? Hmm, now there's a concept. Under the weather. What weather and how under it can you be?

I'd love to hear comments on this post.

Hugs