I’ll just put it out there. I will never be accused of being organized. In fact, “disorganized” is still probably too generous. Anti-organized? Whatever. I often have good intentions about implementing tools and systems to try to be better on top of things, to empower myself to create plans more solid than rice paper. But the road to hell and all that. I always half-ass it, and half a system is almost worse than none at all. Because it fools you into thinking you have a handle on things, when in truth, you’re just as hopelessly clueless as usual, only you’ve also wasted some valuable time putting together a useless and deceptive half-system that could have been spent doing something fun.
“What does any of this have to do with writer envy, you rambling, tangent-loving jackelope?” you might be tempted to ask.
Well, I’ll tell you, though I’m not crazy about your tone. I knew at one point the theme for one of the weeks here at the Bazaar was going to be envy. I swear I did. I read an email that spelled it out before I submitted my first post months ago. And, in typical Salyards fashion (to be fair, some distant relatives out there are probably exceptionally organized, so I can’t really hide behind the surname—it’s really just my fashion), I somehow forgot. Actually, what really happened is I convinced myself the topic didn’t make the cut. Which is more ironic than you know, since when the Night Bazaar guru, Liz, was soliciting ideas and asking us to brainstorm, “writer envy” was one of the ones I popped off.