So I’ve become addicted to procrastinating. I have this great book I’m writing that a month ago had me completely in thrall. I was eager to return to the characters every time I sat down at the keyboard. I saw myself finishing this book by Christmas. Then suddenly, it all stopped.

I don’t really know how or why, other than I had a few other things to do for a week or so and put writing this particular story on the backburner. No worries, I thought. I’ll get back to it. Then I got a few more things to do that couldn’t be put off. I did those, promising myself the whole time that I’ll get back to that story really soon. There’s no deadline on it so of course it is the thing that gets pushed to the back of the queue when other deadlines loom. That’s okay, that’s the way it is. I haven’t missed a single one of my other deadlines, I’ve met all my immediate obligations all while doing my boring day job and keeping the family fed and clothed. Some days I don’t know how I do it :).

But now I have to find my way back to that manuscript, back to the headspace where the story exists, waiting to be told. I’m just not sure where I left it now (maybe I’ve lost part of my mind–it was bound to happen eventually). I’m doing anything, and I mean ANYTHING to avoid it too, which is something we writers are extremely good at. Sit down to write the manuscript and suddenly the idea of ordering bookmarks or pens or redesigning the website becomes the most interesting and vital thing in the world. Why do we do this? Who knows. Perhaps we’re simply afraid. Writing a novel is one of the most challenging, frightening things a human being can do. Sometimes I’m amazed at my sheer gall in even attempting it. On those days it’s just easier to browse the net rather than face the terror of it all.

I’m going to get back to that story, I swear it. But for now, I’m going to go tweak that website design…

Have a good weekend,