As writers we’re well acquainted with procrastination. It’s an art we’ve cultivated, and cleverly honed. Sometimes, we even convince ourselves it’s part of the process. Of course, if we didn’t find opportunities to escape, we might go crazy with all the creative juice coursing through our veins. See – there’s always justification for losing hours watching Comic-Con panels (or is that just me?)
I’ve talked about the internet being our friend, and in this case, it lets us procrastinate to our hearts consent. Perhaps it indulges us a little too often, and there should be some sort of dalliance protocol – like parental control for writers.
If we manage to stay away from the web, from getting sucked into social media, or YouTube videos to feed our habit, it doesn’t end there. No, we realise that our books need to be reorganised, perhaps alphabetised by author instead of title, or sorted according to genre. I could go on. The list is endless, and whatever pressing project we discover to kill time, eventually we have to get back to work.
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