I’m about to go to bed. It’s 2:21 am. I’ve been up transcribing tape for the current book project.
I’ve been asked, oh, 100 times why I transcribe my own tape. Get an intern to do it. Pay a kid to do it. Send the file to India and have someone do it for $10 (no exaggeration—a genuine option). I refuse. Always.
Why? Because as miserable tape transcription can be (and almost always is), there’s a value to it. By listening again, and typing each word, the thoughts and ideas are burrowed deeper into your brain. When you’re actually writing the book, and a mound of 250 interview transcripts sit by your side, it’s often difficult to recall who said what and what was said when. By transcribing, I truly believe I’m helping along the process. At least I hope I am.
Since we’re on the subject, I’m current buried deep within book hell. There are great, euphoric moments in researching/writing a biography. Tremendous highs that make you think, “This is the greatest gig in the world!” Well, I’m not there right now. I’ve basically got two months left before I NEED to start writing, and I’m lost. Well, not lost. Just scattered. You know that feeling where you have so much to do, you actually do nothing at all. That’s me. Staring down mounds and mounds of crap, yet more drawn to Fight Night on my XBox 360.
PS: Love Obama, love Romney … whatever. Liz Cheney is a moron. Can we all agree?