Deadlines
There is nothing like
a deadline for spurring
one into action. As
someone whose life has
been measured by deadlines,
daily, weekly, monthly,
annually, and at one
stage hourly, I have
come to respect them,
fear them, and recognize
their worth.
A deadline that must
be met keeps one energized.
Consequences of failure
to meet it can be horrendous
or slight, depending
on the task at hand.
Others may be dependent
on the deadline being
met. Reaction may range
from peevishness to
all out rage. Excuses,
no matter how well founded,
are summarily dismissed.
Each potential cause
for delay should have
been foreseen and measures
taken to prevent it.
There is, moreover, the
sense of self-guilt,
the knowledge that,
if one had been more
attentive, delay could
have been avoided.
Once upon a time, and
it was a long time ago,
I was faced with a deadline
that was relentlessly
drawing nearer and nearer,
like the oncoming train
to the hapless Vera
as she lay tied to the
train tracks where the
villain had left her.
Those unfamiliar with
that dramatic episode
may spend some fruitful
time searching for it
on the Internet. Who
knows what else may
tickle their fancy as
they hunt with the aid
of various search engines.
They might even find
something useful, such
as the contention that
the financial policy
of the Peruvians once
rested in part on the
number of goats in the
country.
Anyone addicted to the
Internet knows how one
link can lead to another,
and another, until all
remembrance of the original
search is forgotten,
just as the subject
of deadlines has become
blurred in the foregoing
meandering.
It was a deadline that
had to be met for a
column in a weekly newspaper,
and there was nothing
to fill it. The blank
sheet of copy paper-we
still used paper in
those days-bred an equal
blankness in the brain.
Nothing came to mind.
Time ticked by. Still
nothing.
The pen-yes, we still
used pens in those days-real
honest to goodness pens,
fountain pens, filled
with real ink from real
ink bottles-Quink ink
or Swan's ink, it didn't
matter which-the pen
somehow twitched, and
its nib went dot, dot,
dot on the blank page.
Just like this. . .
.
Like a modern-day Chesterton
I was inspired. I wrote
about the three dots.
What I wrote I forget.
It really was a long
time ago. But the whole
point was that the deadline
was met. Which neatly
returns us to the sentence
at the beginning of
this effusion:
"There is nothing
like a deadline
for spurring one
into action."
With a blank computer
screen staring me in
the face, and the deadline
for the July issue of
this e-zine rapidly
bearing down, miraculously
memory recalled that
earlier incident which
can now be shared with
readers all over the
planet.
Truly the Internet is
a fabulous thing. .
. .
--30--
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