Sticks all over the damn place, but perhaps the most effective carrot driving me to finish the book right this minute is the idea that if it were published and then I was promoted, I would be in a good position to jockey for a bigger office, an office big enough for a couch. If I had a couch, I wouldn’t have to take my writing-naps on the cold, hard, fairly dirty floor.
Sure I feel bad about having writing-naps in the middle of the day. I don’t get to do it that often, and now only uncomfortably, but back in the day – back when I can remember writing fluidly – they were an essential part of the process of composition. I’d get stuck, then sleep or even just lie there with my eyes closed for half-an-hour, and things would as if automagically rethread themselves, recombine into eloquence.