I got this new vacuum for Christmas. And before you ask, no my husband did not buy it for me. I bought it for myself. He made the mistake of buying me a cleaning apparatus for me once. Suffice it to say, he will NEVER do that again.
I crack open the box, assemble it (which for those of you who have one -- am I supposed to have spare parts?) and I start cleaning. Enthralled doesn't even begin to explain my reaction. The fact that I can actually see the dirt in the canister is like instant gratification to me. I empty it and start again. That was on Christmas. I have vacuumed my house literally three times a day, every day since then -- still enthralled, still amazed at the physical reminder of my accomplishment. (aka dirt in the canister)
My husband makes some snide comment about how I should "put that much enthusiasm and effort into everything I do." I tell him he's a genius. He scowls, probably unsure of why he got a kiss instead of a tongue lashing worthy of an R rating. But he is right, the physical evidence of my progress is what I am obsessed with. It is like a drug.
So I run to my computer and hit the print button on the WIP I have been revising, re-revising, stalling on submitting for what . . . like three weeks now. I am a constant reviser, always trying to make my WIP's better, the characters stronger. But I always do it electronically. Track changes are my best friend. I read aloud, re-arrange scenes, grammar sweep, but all on my computer. And although I know the exact word count of my WIP, the chapter layout, and the rise and fall of events, it is hard to visualize your revision progress without something to look at.
So now I have a freshly printed copy of my manuscript divided into two piles -- pages completed and those I have yet to get to. I can see the progress, watch the completed pile increase by ten, twenty, fifty pages a day until boom -- I am done. Not a page overlooked, not a comma misplaced.
So thank you Dyson, for getting my rugs clean and my revising back on track.