The Joy of Finishing

Saturday was a good day.  A great day, actually.  Saturday was the sort of day you dream about as a creative person, the sort of day you work toward always.

Saturday was a Finishing Day.  In one day, I crossed about six things off my List, which is nothing more than a list of the pieces I'm working on, in the middle of, or gearing up for.  It also includes other non-composing related things, like checking proofs to get back to editors, things to research, pieces to submit ... the minutiae of being a working composer.

The top 40% of my List is a field of pencil scribbles through what were formerly the pieces I was working on.  I finished the last markings on a string orchestra piece, as well as on three violin solos with piano accompaniment, and I sent those off to a publisher.  (Let me tell you, if I had to be a composer in an age where I couldn't submit things electronically, I'm not sure how intact my sanity would be.)

Another publisher had requested changes on a submission, and I made those and sent that piece back out. 

I also was adding a handchime part to a piece I wrote for the Raleigh Ringers, and I finished that up and sent it back to them.

I imagine it feels in a small way like a parent feels when they send their child off into the world to make their way.  There's the sense of euphoria that I did the best I could with these pieces, and now they're ready to go out into the light of day and sink or swim. 

There's also a sense of dread that now my life is devoid of purpose since, for the past two weeks, these pieces have been my everything in the morning. 

I now face the List again, and this is probably the hardest thing I do as a composer.  It's not quite the Blank Canvas of the artist or the Blank Page of the author, but it ain't too good, neither.  I have one set of pieces I was in the middle of that I should go back to, but I also have a choral arrangement I abandoned because it wouldn't work for my wife's ensemble, thus I put it aside.  I have other pieces I've promised to a different publisher, but he doesn't need those till next summer. 

Then there's the closet door full of yellow post-it notes with ideas for pieces I've had that I want to work on at some point.  Which to choose?  Which is the right piece for me right now?

There's also the part of my brain that says, "Jason, you finished up six things over the weekend.  You deserve a break." I don't listen to this voice because by doing so, I doom myself to future failure, which, again, ain't too good. 

So what will I do?  I'll agonize over my choices for another minute, or five, or ten, then I'll just pick one and dive head-first into it, because that's the only way to get things done; and when I come back tomorrow, I'll wonder why I ever agonized at all, because obviously, whatever project I pick today, by tomorrow will feel like the only logical choice I ever could have come up with for my next work. 

And in the end, it doesn't really matter what I choose, because it will be mine for a while, and then I'll finish it, and send it off into the world, and then it won't really be mine anymore.  Then the process starts all over again.