Well, after all my good intentions to write a story that's due for the magazine, I carted my ancient laptop to the coffeehouse, got my soy latte, got everything plugged in (because my battery is ancient and all dried up), signed on and...did nothing but research. Yes, it was research for the article (finishing up some small details I hadn't yet gathered), and yes, it was productive. But no, it wasn't writing.
I continually amaze myself at my ability to procrastinate. And it's not just procrastination, per se, that's so slack-jaw-ably mind-blowing; it's the danged hanging back, hanging around, hanging on a dream that keeps me from doing the one thing I really want to do (write) and leaves me scratching my head, saying "Where'd the time go?"
So, the day is now done, and the writing is yet to be done. The time to be with family is here, the time to write has flown, and tomorrow, I promise, tomorrow I shall transpose the phrases a-swirl in my head into straight, neat lines on the monitor screen.
Either that, or I'll use my creative talents to conjure up more excuses.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
We do that well, don't we? Procrastinate. I'm here at work, early, just to write, and what am I doing? Reading email and responding to this post. But still...in a weird way it helps to know there are other writers out there, all struggling to focus, to write, to beat the demons of procrastination and laundry and dirty floors and all the other mundane things in life that keep us busy. I WILL write. I will. Now.
Post a Comment