I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.
This quote from Douglas Adams on a whiteboard is the first thing I see as I walk inside.
I close the door.
The desk is made of oak, the color is dark brown, it has to be. It’s heavy, solid and huge, a lot bigger than a regular size desk.
It’s not standard, nothing is.
The music. Classical, no words, just music. The volume is on 5, it always is.
Frédéric François Chopin.
No flowers, no windows. The smell is distracting. The view is just too much.
One light only. It’s on the desk, on the right side.
The tea is ready. Green tea shipped all the way from China.
Where’s my thinking cap?
Ah, there it is. Now, finally, I’m ready.
It shouldn’t be like that, and it’s not.
It’s about inspiration, and it’s about work. Work and deadlines.
I write, and I keep writing, whenever I have the time and wherever, because it’s work.
I no longer stay in my hideout. It feels different, unhampered.
Deadlines are important, they are important because they help us keep writing and they help us stop.
I have a friend, a painter, he’s an awesome painter, an artist.
It’s amazing to see him work. He is painting every single day, he loves to paint.
He is amazing, but he doesn’t earn a living as a painter.
He doesn’t set deadlines and he almost never finishes his paintings.
I gave him an advice, I told him that when it’s time to stop, stop. It doesn’t have to be perfect, nothing is.
He responded by giving me a weird look, and the following sentence… you don’t know anything about painting do you?