The Neverending Story
Everyone remember the bit at the end of The Terminator, where Linda Hamilton does everything possible to kill the robot formerly known as Ah-nie, only for it to keep on coming back again and again to terrorise her?
Substitute me for Linda Hamilton (you can do it - at least it's not the sequel, where she had bigger muscles than me ...) and the magazine feature I'm working on for the robot and you've got some idea of how I'm feeling at the moment.
Today it was all supposed to end. Step one was to dispatch the children to school. I couldn't get away with toe-punting them through the classroom door and waving over my shoulder as I screeched away in a cloud of burning rubber, but I still made pretty good time - every second I could spend putting the feature to bed was precious.
Step two: transcribe yesterday's interview and work it into the story. I'd just finished that when two of the many people I've been unable to pin down for interviews over the last couple of weeks called in quick succession - now I could interview them, too, apparently.
Did one on the spot, but the second isn't possible until tomorrow. Which means missing today's deadline.
The good news is that the story will be much better for it - already I've been able to fill in some of the more obvious gaps. The bad - or good, depending on your viewpoint - news is that the story's evolving in a completely new direction, one that's far more interesting than the one I started with. I'd be remiss not to pursue the new line, but that means ... more interviews. With a new bunch of people I have no chance of getting to talk to me.
I'm hoping my ed will get back to me and grant me long enough to do the job properly, but you never can tell. Plus I'm seriously over the whole thing now.
So, anyone passing my house later who sees me in the garden, tired and battered, screaming into the sky, 'Why can't you just die?!?', don't panic or call the police. It's all under control.
It's fine.
Really.
Substitute me for Linda Hamilton (you can do it - at least it's not the sequel, where she had bigger muscles than me ...) and the magazine feature I'm working on for the robot and you've got some idea of how I'm feeling at the moment.
Today it was all supposed to end. Step one was to dispatch the children to school. I couldn't get away with toe-punting them through the classroom door and waving over my shoulder as I screeched away in a cloud of burning rubber, but I still made pretty good time - every second I could spend putting the feature to bed was precious.
Step two: transcribe yesterday's interview and work it into the story. I'd just finished that when two of the many people I've been unable to pin down for interviews over the last couple of weeks called in quick succession - now I could interview them, too, apparently.
Did one on the spot, but the second isn't possible until tomorrow. Which means missing today's deadline.
The good news is that the story will be much better for it - already I've been able to fill in some of the more obvious gaps. The bad - or good, depending on your viewpoint - news is that the story's evolving in a completely new direction, one that's far more interesting than the one I started with. I'd be remiss not to pursue the new line, but that means ... more interviews. With a new bunch of people I have no chance of getting to talk to me.
I'm hoping my ed will get back to me and grant me long enough to do the job properly, but you never can tell. Plus I'm seriously over the whole thing now.
So, anyone passing my house later who sees me in the garden, tired and battered, screaming into the sky, 'Why can't you just die?!?', don't panic or call the police. It's all under control.
It's fine.
Really.
posted by Pete Kempshall at 6:14 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home