Tag Archives: procrastination

Life in Slackerville

I had the day off, and figured to make the words do my bidding. It didn't quite work out that way.

My first mistake was to run down the WordPress wormhole. It takes time to catch up on blogs, and I knew it was a mistake when I started. I need quiet to write anything, and my daughter could wake up at any time.

After reading blogs, I re-read every word of the Yak Guy project. It works for me, but still needs some fine tuning before public consumption. I was finally ready to add words to it.

Then my daughter got up. This girl can talk, and that hasn't changed since she first learned how. At least she goes outside to smoke occasionally, so I can lubricate my ears from time to time. Lemons to lemonade moment here.

Being the opportunist I am, I weaseled a haircut out of her. Hey, she had her scissors with her. I paid her for her work anyway.

I insisted upon washing my hair when we finished, you know, to get the stubble out. This caused a break in the narrative, and when I was finished she was in her room.

I took the time to make corrections to The Playground based upon critique group. If nothing else, I can check that off the list.

When my wife came home, my daughter decided to accompany her on shopping day. I don't really understand the appeal of a grocery store, but I like to accomplish something and used my time wisely.

I read Barb Taub's new book, Do Not Wash Hands in Plates. This is a hilarious travelogue about Barb's trip to India with a couple of old friends.

Most of the cool kids follow Barb's blog, and understand her sense of humor. For the rest of you, this isn't the kind of book I would normally read. I picked it up in faith that it would be as good as her blog. I was not disappointed.

I'm trying to coerce Barb into making an appearance here, so watch this space.

I dabbled with an artwork program that I have. My skills are non-existent, but it's fun. The learning curve on these apps is a bit different than a box of crayons, and some old newspaper, but I'm figuring things out.

I didn't get any writing done. I feel like a slacker in that regard. On the other hand, I accomplished a few other things.

We just watched last weeks episode of Lip Sync Battle. This one featured Channing Tatum and his wife, in the best one yet. My wife and I laughed till our sides hurt. Now the house is quiet.

If I remain inconspicuous to my wife, I may be able to add a few words to that short story I've been pecking away at. See you later.

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Making time to write

I set the alarm clock for 4:10 AM. It makes me feel better if it isn’t exactly 4:00. Yesterday I didn’t get much accomplished on the writing front, and I was going to get something done if it killed me. I also admit to some procrastination, writing is a lot more fun than promoting. I just don’t like yelling look at me, buy my book, all the time. Besides, some of the book reviewers and blog tour hosts are pretty big time. This means I did some of the homework, but haven’t reached out much yet. Yeah, I’m doubting myself again. 

I fed the old pit bull and headed for the writing cabin. This is the place where I have the most fun. I landed in the dark and used the lift to lower the gyro copter into the basement.

Lisa* met me on the stairs again. “Kind of early for you today.”

“Yeah, I want to get something accomplished this weekend. Here, can you find some shelf space for this?”

“What is it?”

“The soapbox from yesterday’s blog post. It might come in handy again someday.”

Lisa paused. I knew she had internal records of everything at the cabin. “There’s some room between the Spanish armor and  the self contained firefighter’s suits,” she said.

I headed up the stairs and said, “It’s amazing how much junk writers collect, isn’t it?”

I never heard her answer. The coffee was ready, and I suspect she had some warning set up on my gyro copter to tell her when I was coming. I slipped into the new writing room and threw the switch. Doubt** was still asleep on one of the hippo tusks. This is awesome, I can write doubt free at least until sunup.

I sat my fedora on the stone gargoyle, and pulled on my lab coat. I’m at the dreaded middle of the story. My main character, Patty, knows what’s going on now and she suffered quite a bit to figure it all out. Today she needed to step away from all that, but that doesn’t mean she gets to just loaf about. She’s grounded and her step father gave her some serious chores. She doesn’t seem to mind, but she’s going to ache tomorrow.

I’m struggling with one bit where he holds her hand to teach her to operate the farm equipment. Right after I wrote it Doubt made one of his raven sounds, krick kruck. I rubbed my eyes and looked out the enchanted window. Lava was flowing down the streets of a small hamlet and people were running and screaming everywhere. I knew it wasn’t real, but the sun was up and so was Doubt.

I don’t want it to come across as creepy, it isn’t that kind of story. It’s the stepfather being genuinely helpful, and I may need to go over it again. Thirty years ago I wouldn’t have to worry about it, but today everyone will imagine something bad.

Lisa came in wearing a green corset dress. She had a choker with a blood red stone around her neck. She’s been really helpful with keeping the mood set for this story. “You’re being kind of tough on Patty, don’t you think?”

“I was tough on you too. It’s what happens to main characters,” I said.

“Yeah, but she’s only fifteen. She’s not eating well, you gave her early warnings of high blood pressure, digestive problems, and her hair is falling out.”

I raised my eyebrow and leaned forward. “You weren’t even one year old.”

“It’s different for robots. I was designed to handle some crap, and I have police software. I also have a big assed gun.”

“Well, it isn’t that kind of story. Patty has to figure out how to get herself out of trouble then I’ll write about it.”

Lisa went about her chores, and I heard the vacuum in the main lobby. I went on for several more hours. By the end of the day I was up to 46,249 words. I forgot to write down my starting number, but according to my last word count blog it was about 2800 words. I’m a little disappointed, but this happens in the middle of every story I write. It’s easy to rip through words at the beginning and the end. The middle is like marching through deep crusted snow. I hope they don’t read that way too. Doubt made another sound, tic tic blork. I grabbed my hat, filled my travel cup with coffee and headed for the gyro copter.

* Lisa is the main character in Wild Concept. She works at the writing cabin now, and is a robot.

** Doubt is a raven. He was a gift from my Muse.

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