Death by Procrastination

There is the writing I love...the writing that wakes me up at night whispering ideas.  Then there is the writing that helps pay the bills.  Certainly, until I get the novel finished, the two will likely remain quite separate. 

The writing I love is so all encompassing that I scribble notes at stop lights, jots reminders on my arm with Sharpie, and chant bits of dialogue for fear of losing the idea before I can memorialize it.

The "other writing" can be a...chore. At times I feel like a rebellious ten year old, whining in her messy room, spending the day doing anything other than what needs to be done. 

I had no idea that procrastination was so exhausting.

What do you do when there are thing to be done, but you can't quite make yourself do them? 

Writer's Guilt...and 149 Pages

This is one of those days when I feel like a fraud.  I wonder If you are really a writer, why didn't you write at all this weekend?  Writers, well...they actually write.  Ouch.

Yep.  I did not write Saturday or Sunday...not a bloody word!  I helped the kids decorate Valentine's Days boxes for school, I made a huge trip to the store with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law to stock up on food in case the winter weather became something impressive and fearsome (it didn't...it was pathetic...but, hey, at least I got my cabinets filled up!). 

I watched too much television (which I rarely do at all, much less to excess). 

I ate too much (and this at a time when I am entered in a "Biggest Loser" contest at work...more because I could really use the $400 prize rather than out of any real desire to become smaller). 

I did not write.  I was not productive.  Full stop.  No excuses.  (Just lots and lots of "writer's guilt").  [NOTE:  In an effort to avoid writing, I just went so far as to google "writer's guilt"...nothing.  Perhaps I am the only one who actually feels guilty when I go more than one day without having written something of substance.]

So, taken as a whole, I am assuming that I am still at "That Part of the Book."  (For more information on the pit of despair that is "That Part of the Book," please refer to Neil Gaiman's Pep Talk here.)  I am between 1/2 and 3/4 of the way through the first draft...so that seems about right.  "That Part of the Book" is a dark, dark place to be.  It seems that the only time I can force myself to sit and write is over my lunch hour at work...which is something at least, but not nearly enough. 

I suppose to should be grateful that it is not something more serious...like Writer's Block, or a Lost Manuscript (please hold on a moment while I knock on wood frantically).

Ok.  So apparently I need a self imposed deadline.  Something more short-term than the whole "year" thing to spur on some serious writing and get me back on track.  Fair enough.  I can do that...what about...hm..."I must write15 pages before the end of the day on Friday."  But wait.  There needs to be a consequence.  I need some incentive to actually get it done.  I will have to ponder this. 

On that note, if you happen to have any suggestions of possible consequences for failing to write my page count, feel free to leave them in the comments.  Maybe I should post some paragraphs...or a chapter...of what I am working on.  Perhaps some of my handwritten pages, or notes, or maps.  Or a picture of me writing, in my jim-jams, not wearing any make-up.  [Note:  In the interest of not wanting a lose any of my Followers, especially when people are just starting to "follow" me, perhaps the whole "no make-up" part is not the wisest idea...]  But I am open to suggestions, so comment away!

Also, in the spirit of continuing to share more of my current work-in-progress, I shall offer the following:




A slightly creepy, but ultimately rather intriguing, cairn.

 Enough procrastinating, already!  I will now sharpen my pencil, grab my lunch, and hole up at the corner table in the office break room so that I can try to get words on paper.

Procrastination, Picking at Scabs, and 113 Pages

More mapping, more notes, more plotting...and two more pages.  It is slow progress, but progress nonetheless.  Today it is a herculean effort to sit down and write...to focus and try to extricate the ideas from my head and somehow get them on paper well enough that later, when I rewrite and edit, perhaps they will be close to what I can see in my head.

My head...feels a bit like black hole.  I fear that the ideas that I have in my head will be sucked away if I don't get them safely on the page NOW...

This is very similar to the black hole in my brain.

(Source: NASA/o CXC/MIT/F.K. Baganoff et al.)

...so some days I write frantically.  I scribble the words late at night and hope that it all still makes sense in the morning.

Other days, I pause with my pencil in mid-air and stare blankly at the last sentence I wrote.  Waiting. The reason for the procrastination is that I know the road a certain character is traveling, and I know that writing will bring him one page closer to his demise.  For other characters, there is a particularly pivotal scene that I need to get down, and I need to turn it over in my mind different ways and examine it before I know how to best present it.  Then there are awkward days...days that I have to write about emotions, with all the sticky, messy, well-worn baggage that comes with it.  It can be unpleasant having to share a character's betrayal or abandonment or jealousy...it stirs up things we would prefer to leave buried.  Some may call it cathartic, but it never seems to feel that way to me.  For me, it is more like picking at scabs. 

As I start writing today, I am at 113 pages.  On this particular day, 01-13-2012, that seems appropriate.  I should be about a third of the way through the first draft of the book, and yet there is still so much to do!  Which leads to me to my recent realization...the story will have to encompass more than one book.

This is all just the beginning.