The other day on Project Runway, which I do not watch, the designers criticized another designer for working like a fine artist--he did not really allow "deadlines" into his world. He focused on his body of work, primping and prepping, taking apart and revamping only to revamp a million more times, as the clocked ticked away. It was about producing perfection, a tiny piece of him, and not about getting it out in time for others to see it. The focus was always how he felt about it, not how others would feel about it.
So now, instead of thinking of myself as neurotic or obsessive, I believe that I'm a fine artist.
My 3-page proposal is officially 4.5 pages because I decided that 2 working hypothesis were not enough; the third was absolutely necessary for balance. I have revamped it several times and wordsmithed it to death, agonizing over words as if each one could be the deciding factor for whether or not I get this fellowship. I have read 200 background papers even though I probably only had to read about 50 to grasp the material enough to write something coherent.
I really should send it off--especially given the fact that my generous extension is not going to be generous for much longer.
Coherent isn't good enough.
I'm a fine artist, baby.