Driven or obsessed?

I got my dining room table back yesterday. No, it hadn't gone anywhere, but when my niece came to visit a few weeks ago, she started a 2,000-piece puzzle, which was so large the table was  only place big enough to spread it out. We ate around the outside edge the first night, but couldn't after that.

The puzzle from Hades, according to my nephew.

The niece left, leaving the barely started puzzle still on the table. For two weeks, I ate on the couch as the puzzle sat untouched. Then I decided I wanted the table back, so I worked on it for five days--dragging my oldest nephew, who's visiting now, into my obsession. We put the last piece in place Tuesday morning.

But we finished. An hour later, I tore the puzzle apart, put it back in its box and had polished up the table. Then I could go back to my other works in progress.

The obvious question, of course, is why didn't I simply box up the unfinished puzzle. Let's call it a personality tick. Books must be finished, as must puzzles, laundry, cleaning, renovations, etc. It may take me days or weeks to complete the task--or I may need to call in sick to finish (did that once while cleaning my house) but I will finish. The closer I get to being done, the more obsessive I become.

There's a fine line between being driven and being obsessed, and I think perspective is the key.

I'm driven when I'm working on a big goal, such as finishing a book, painting the house or finding the perfect pair of shoes. But on a smaller scale, i.e. puzzles and cleaning, it's borderline obsessive. Perhaps it's even detrimental. After all, now that my table is back and ready for use, I've noticed the rest of the house looks a little cluttered...

Blogging at Borders

Readers Crown book finalists (including me for Ties That Bind) are at the Borders blog today. Come by and say hi.

Burning my boats

Almost 500 years ago, Hernando Cortes set out to conquer Mexico--his determination so great, he burned his boats once he and his men came ashore. This act not only made sure his men would fight when they'd rather retreat, but also provided fodder for motivational speakers for centuries to come.


By burning our boats, we ensure we don't quit when the goal becomes too big or too scary or too far away. However, by burning our boats, we also ensure our commitment to a cause that we obviously don't agree with--at least not wholeheartedly. For if we were wholly committed there would be no need to burn our boats.


These thoughts have been twisting through my head the past several days after the heroine in my current WIP takes a step that could be viewed as the 12th century equivalent of burning her boat.


My hero chides her for taking such a narrow view of success: "There is always another way to get what you want," he says in the story that I've taken to calling the Yorkshire Gothic (even though it's set in Northumberland). "In fact, there are usually two or three different ways to get what you want."


These were not the words I expected to come out of my hero's mouth. Until that point, I'd pictured him as rather monomaniacal, and the scene was supposed to spark a moment of empathy with the heroine.


Instead, she took umbrage at his attitude, and they are further apart than ever.
Then I began to wonder if Rye was talking to me. The truth is I can become fixated on one thing to the near exclusion of all else. And for the past six months or so I've been determined  to find a way to shake things up--only I can't decide on the one way to do it.

• Travel?
• New job?
• Move to Key West and take up improv?

The problem is I've been looking for a way when there are multiple paths to get to where I want to be.

Overlooking the small fact that my characters are now talking to me, I've decided to try Option A and if that doesn't work, move on.  I'm not out to conquer Mexico, after all. I don't need to burn my boats.