I seem to be stuck in procrastination-ville and it’s really pissing me off. Sure, I just spent three weeks enduring a very painful and disgusting foot infection which, if one thinks about it, allowed me ample extra time to write. Noted. And even though I wasn’t feeling very creative in the least, I was able to begin formulating a few ideas, one new, which has often times propelled me to jump back in with both feet, puns always included.
But any and all new thoughts on new projects aside, I let the one thing a writer should never do do: not write. I firmly believe there is no such thing as writers block. If I ever refer to that or hear someone utter such words, it only means one thing is taking place: procrastination. As nasty and unwelcome as it is, it can creep up on you in an instant. And it won’t let go until you force it out of the room. Almost like expelling a demon, you can talk to it. Summon it to metastasize, then strangle it and send it on it’s way. Meanwhile, the second it’s gone, you’re in front of your computer, engaging in the writing that’s been on the tip of your entire being, just waiting to be unleashed.
It never goes away. It’s ready to fill another page, then another, even if you’ve let the P word run your roost for a month.
(Meanwhile, I started this an hour ago with the intention of finishing now but we made ginger snap cookies and we.. and.. and..)
(Double meanwhile, a full day has passed and this isn’t complete.)
Or is it?