Sometimes writing is a bloody horrible way to make a living. Did I say 'sometimes'?
I am working on something that I thought I could crank out in an hour or so. I started at 9am, once I'd made crepes for the swarm of children who are in my house, and had three doses of caffeine myself, and run out of excuses for avoiding the studio. It's now 11.30am, and I've barely made a dent in it.
And, of course, it's a beautiful autumn day and I'd much rather be, um, doing anything at all. Or nothing at all.
The more I look at this job, the less I care.
Maybe if I eat lunch early I will be re-energised.
How I amuse myself when I should be working
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Real people: May at the market22 hours ago
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Echo, echo, echo...9 years ago
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Under the greenwood tree9 years ago
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1 comment:
my sympathies! I've never had to write for a living, but I've endured some prolonged stays in the slough of despond while trying to avoid writing my dissertation. There's something about the absolute implacability of the blank page -- or screen, more often -- that leads to the most creative forms of procrastination. Good luck!
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