I've failed to meet my second deadline. I am far from completing my first book. I need still more time.
My theories had just been incubating and I had made some headway with the first two chapters. Then, during December last year, I signed up for some consulting offers that came my way. I also took up some coaching assignments with a few clients. I needed the money so bad that I had to compromise in favour of short-term gains. Since then, it has been difficult to devote large chunks of time for research. That long a lapse of time has made me forget a lot of things I had read, which I am going to have to re-read.
Besides, the more I read, the more I know that I know almost nothing. Someone wise once said that you don't know what you think you know until you try to write it down. Every day, I become more convinced that a good majority of us on this planet, me included, don't know shit about shit. But I am happy to revise my formulations in the light of new discoveries I'm making.
I regret having publicly announced my plans to write a book. I was naive. Doing it for the first time, I had no idea how long it would take.
If I were writing a Doggone It! You Too Can Do It, You Schmuck! pump-ware, I wouldn't have needed half as much time as I've already taken. And I am not writing anything along the lines of How to Lose Your Saddlebags in 21 Days either. I am so not qualified for that subject. What I am writing about will find likeness with the thinking lot of people.
I even feel like a fraud at times, but I know I am not. I know this feeling all too well. I've had such fears every time I have tried to break new ground, to do something I had never done before, until I completed the thing.
It's like one of those rash cab rides from home to the airport to conduct a training program in another city at the request of my client. I've prepared for weeks, the presentation is frozen and I've got my lines by-heart, yet! when the cab driver rushes madly through the busy traffic to make it to the airport in time, I am secretly wishing in my head that we collide into another careless vehicle and die, or at least have some minor injuries to show for, so I'll have a strong alibi to save me from the greater catastrophe of standing in front of a group of people and talking about stuff.
But that never happens. Instead, it all fares brilliantly, about just as spectacular as I'd dreamt and secretly hoped it would.
So will this. All this pain and anxiety is for good.
The good thing is: I am writing this book because I do have something to say.
I accept it. Even if all of these are valid excuses, they are, in fact, just excuses. It is totally my fault. I let things slip. This time, though I am tempted to, I am not putting a date on it except to say that sometime this calendar year, and some time soon.
So long, then.
I am moving my deadline for completing my book from 31st December 2011 to 28th February 2012.
This is the first time I am writing a book and I am scared of many things.
And I've been busy as a stock broker on the market floor, brokering a livelihood, meeting people, being asked to call back and visit again, calling back and visiting again, maintaining a record of sales prospects and the history of dealings with them, being treated like crap, and worrying about many things, and in between studying, writing and working out some. Owing to this and some personal commitments that have recently sprung up, I have no other choice but to push my own deadline further.
The only way I could honor my earlier deadline of the 31st December 2011 was if I wrote a 12-page cookbook called The Recipe Book of 25 Mostly Eaten Indian Curries, or How To Chew Meat Balls The Right Way. And I'd like to write something a little heavier than that.
I promise to myself to complete the writing, and possibly publishing but definitely the manuscript, by 28th February 2012. I need to do more research, reading and writing.