The mind as storage device
A flywheel is a device for storing energy: some machine or water flow or what have you gets it running and the wheel flies around, faster and faster, ready to transfer that energy into driving whatever piece of equipment one might require. A flywheel resists changes in its speed of rotation, and it needs a load to bleed off the energy it’s storing. Needs it.
I’ve had a week where, because of one thing or another (car, research, visiting family, doctor’s appointments) the built-up energy of the rewrite process has had virtually nowhere to go. Three hours inputting changes into the laptop while waiting for my car to be serviced; two hours one afternoon when all necessary beds were made up and refrigerator filled; that’s been it, for five days. Five days, in what should have been the final week of the rewrite.
If a flywheel is not given a load—punch to drive, weight to propel—while it continues to be shoved into action, there’s a risk that the entire machinery may batter itself to pieces. This is how my mind feels at the moment.
I need, I crave, to finish this book. I have all the lines in my mind, all the characters and their actions and their motivations and the interesting little sub-themes right there in my hands, and I have to go off and clear out a rubbish-filed guest room and make a trip to the grocery store. Every day, for five days.
The flywheel of my mind is going to fling itself to pieces, if I’m not given some uninterrupted working time very soon.