I have been the epitome of procrastination. I have not made any progress on my second book at all. I have the desire to write it, but just lack the focus and inspiration. It sucks. So, rather than watch the blinking cursor all day, getting more and more frustrated, I have been finding other stuff to do with my time. I am currently on the third book in the 50 Shades series (which I think I have read at least 20 times now), I am about 5 hours into Mass Effect 2 (another of my all time favorite video game franchises, which I have played more times than I can count), I have only the final 2 Harry Potter movies in my Harry Potter movie rewatch obsession (yeah, I can do the same things over and over and it doesn’t get old), and I keep trying to talk myself into getting back on the workout train. I spend more time working on my blog than I do thinking about my book. Honestly, I spend more time looking up healthy alternatives to my favorite recipes (which I sometimes use, and other times I just go back to full fat yumminess and promise I will go low fat next time). I really want to work on my book and know that I will feel so much better when I finally get started on it. It is a great relief when the words start flowing and I am dug in so deep that I forget to pull anything out of the freezer, so I am forced to run to Publix at like 8:30pm (when I have been interrupted enough with questions of what dinner will be) and grab whatever to throw at everyone so I can get back to my keyboard and pound away again. When I am not writing there is this pressure that continues to build until inspiration finally strikes and then it’s like an explosion of words on a word page. I won’t sleep for months and survive solely on coffee and whatever I can grab and stuff in my mouth without any prep work (if I even remember to eat). My family suffers, my friends feel unloved, my poor puppy lays loyally at my feet around the clock. It’s bad. Laundry doesn’t get done and I have my kids leaving the house looking like we live on the streets, and Damon works relentlessly at distracting me in the hope of snapping me out of my trance long enough to get something hot to eat. Those are the days. Now if only my precious muse would smack me in the head with loads of inspiration, so I could please get back to work. That second book isn’t going to write itself (though sometimes I wish it could).
