We're all guilty of the deadline epidemic: knowing you have a deadline, but deciding to momentarily peruse Buzzfeed, tweet about the newest episode of Pretty Little Liars, eat more than you should, and catch up on your chick flicks.
Are deadlines chasing you like fiery hell-demons? Do they thump from under the floor like Poe's tell-tale heart? Do they watch you like the all-seeing eye of Sauron? If you have an impossible deadline, here's a quick read. (It should be -- you have a deadline, right?)
One of the great struggles of any creative profession is coming up with an ingenious and original idea in a timely manner. Lightning strikes of inspiration are often few and far between, which makes it hard to convince people to give you money for your ideas.
In his book, When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead, legendary film producer Jerry Weintraub says death makes the rope taut. You need an endpoint, after all, to give your story structure -- and meaning. Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
I haven't lived alone since 1986, when I had an apartment in York Harbor, Maine, near the beach. I was there for six months until my husband, then boyfriend, whisked me away to his apartment above a garage in Rye, NH on the beach.
How do you recognize when you are working too much and for the wrong reasons? Who today truly keeps their perspective of what's normal or acceptable when it comes to work? Surviving the economic crisis of 2009 has pushed the limits of what is normal working behavior.