First I questioned the fact that Stick Guy only has two (three?) cups of coffee. Then I realized the cups are as tall as his chair. Well played, The System.
Category: Procrastination
30 Excuses for Why I “Can’t” Write Today
I’m tired of making excuses to myself. So in a fit of pique I scribbled out a list of all the reasons I can think of not to write.
These are transcribed exactly how I wrote them, questionable grammar and all.
1. It’s hard.
2. I can’t make a routine because of my shifts @ work.
3. I’ll never make a living at it. (why bother?)
4. My friends are humoring me.
5. I’ll probably get sued.
6. No one reads horror.
7. I’ll never get rich writing e-books.
8. The internet is more fun.
9. I need uninterrupted time and quiet and a thunderstorm or perfect Fall sunlight and…
10. Who do I think I am, anyway?
11. My ideas are stupid and no one has told me.
12. I don’t like to give up other things to make the time.
13. The tax forms are confusing.
14. It’s all been done before.
15. I can’t describe exactly what I see in my head.
16. I’m afraid of cliches.
17. I don’t have a proper editor and am probably making so many mistakes.
18. My office is messy.
19. I want the lifestyle but I don’t want to put in the work — I want it just to happen.
20. My job gets in my way.
21. It’ll just get stolen anyway.
22. There are a million other people doing the same thing as me at the same time as me.
23. I don’t have an English degree.
24. I’m already behind on The Plan.
25. It’s a pain to lug my laptop around.
26. I could write more at work if there was a table in the locker room for me to sit at.
27. I’m not great at networking.
28. I can’t concentrate.
29. What if I actually write a novel then hate it?
30. I’m scared.
Honestly, there are some thoughts on this list that I’m not especially proud of. But I’m glad I wrote it out: the whole list was written in only a couple of minutes, and it felt good to get it out of my system. I figured I’d post it here as a confession of sorts. There must be other (new) authors out there feeling at least some of these things.
Now that I see it in front of me, I can see how ridiculous some of these thoughts are, and how the “obstacles” that seemed so big are really just me being lazy or cowardly or…
Feel free to make whatever comments you’d like on this one: I’m having an introspective Let’s Get Real kind of moment. Do you share any of these feelings? What are your go-to excuses?
A Counterintuitive Solution
I figured out why I was having problems meeting my daily word quotas.
It wasn’t hard enough.
I’m a hugely competitive person, and I tend to only really enjoy things that at first seem insurmountable. Looking back, I think I set my initial word goals too low. I had decided on an arbitrary number, that I knew I could accomplish, so as not to get frustrated and give up.
Instead, the opposite happened: it was too easy to reach my goal, which made my subconscious decide it was not worth doing. Something done by rote becomes boring, and what’s the point of doing something boring?
Way to screw me, Brain.
SO: my solution is to increase the number of words I expect out of myself. I’ve set my new goal at nearly double what it was before, and it seems to be working. Suddenly my brain is processing it as Shit! That’s a lot of words! Better work harder! and the ideas are back. The numbers are back.
Since there’s a worry now that I can’t possibly reach my new goal every day, I have to try harder, which makes me focus more.
My tip of the day: write scared.
Struggling with Time Management
Confession: I have not written nearly as much lately as I should.
I have a four-year fold out calendar in my Filofax meant to track and chart my daily writing output. This should have been a blog post with a photo of how I’ve set that up, but let’s face it: my output lately has been abysmal, and I don’t want you to see it.
I’ve been busy, sure. It feels like I’ve been running from one thing to the next for weeks. Part of it was working the Dreaded Morning Shift, wherein I start work at six and become human around noon. Part of it was crafty little things that (enjoyably) ate up my time. I have new ideas for new stories churning out of my head all the time but…I haven’t actually gotten anywhere with them.
I think I’m stuck, a little, on where I’m taking this series of stories. I knew where I wanted to go when I started, but the author of those plans feels like a different person. I tell myself it will take a lot more time to write a novel-length work. Of course it will. But I’ve been missing that high of publishing a new short every couple of weeks. Instead I’ve passed the honeymoon phase of this bigger project without readying myself for the long-term.
It sucks. It’s a bitch to have so many things pulling at the hem of my skirt and (what seems like) no time to get them all done. If I want to give my BIG PLAN a chance to succeed, I really need to work out a firm schedule for writing. Not just when I feel I’ve got time, because clearly nothing gets done that way.
I’ll be pulling out my well thumbed (but never finished) copy of Getting Things Done tonight. And I’m thinking about using a 24-hour timetable in my planner. Something’s gotta give if this thing is going to go anywhere.
Writers: when do you write?
Write Your Words
(This is mostly me trying to motivate myself. But if you need a good kick in the pants, feel free to join me.)
So you wanna be a full-time author? Wanna get paid to do this all day? Wanna work from home, with your cats and your coffeemaker?
You’ve done the planning. You know where you’re going, and how to get there. Now what’s the first step?
Write your words.
Tired? Too bad, write your words.
Cat threw up? Clean it up, then write your words.
Feeling uninspired? Start with something, anything, and write your words.
Other things to do? Self-doubt? Not enough time in the day? Worrying about whether this whole thing will even work out? Just plain don’t feel like it today?
Too bad, so sad, get off your lazy ass and write your fucking words.
You don’t get there by being lazy. You don’t get there by being hesitant.
You get there by working your ass off, sacrificing, and then working some more.
You can sleep later. Now it is time to WRITE YOUR WORDS.
How To Procrastinate
Are you the type who methodically maps out your writing? Do you break stories or novels down into manageable pieces, finishing a self-imposed quota each day? Do you revel in knowing that your story or article will be complete well before it’s due?
You, my friend, are missing out on one of life’s little joys. I like to call it The Game of Procrastination.
It’s easy to play. First, and most importantly, you need a deadline. Those of you working on spec are lucky enough to have one built in, but for the indies you’ll have to make one up. (If you find yourself procrastinating on even setting a deadline, you are too advanced for this game. Move along.) You need a deadline, because you can’t tell you’re procrastinating until you have one looming over your head.
Now we begin.
Sit yourself down at your computer of choice. You might choose a laptop in a cafe; this is the easy way out. There will be a ton of distractions there, most of which won’t even feel like your fault. No. For this game you should be in the comfort of your own home. Boot up your word program of choice. Crack your knuckles if you need to. Roll your head on your neck. Begin.
Wait. Maybe you should pee first. You don’t want to reach your creative zone only to be interrupted by the rude call of nature. Okay. Now that you’ve taken care of that, begin. Begin, that is, after you’ve formatted your page. You’d only have to do it later so you might as well do it now. Now, try to remember that really delightful phrase you thought of when you were at your day job. What was it? Wait, didn’t you write it down? Maybe it’s still in your pocket. You’ve changed since you got home, though, so you have to dig the pants out of the laundry. The hamper is overflowing; take a quick break to go downstairs and start some laundry.
Pass the kitchen. Make some coffee. That’s what writers do, right? You are A Writer, and you deserve your vices.
Sit down while you wait for it to brew. No point in going up to your computer, only to come back down in five minutes. Efficiency, you are a paragon of efficiency. Notice a couple squirrels on the back deck. Begin to wonder about the connection between those squirrels. Are they siblings? Squirrely little lovers?
Coffee made and back upstairs. Write a line, question the spelling of “fuschia”, look it up online. You spelled it correctly! Congrats! But your Twitter tab shows updates. You should see what’s going on. Someone’s tweeting about a cultural event they’re participating in, and you begin to realize you don’t have a “culture” of your own, sure you know your ancestors originated in Europe but what does that mean, to you, as an individual in a melting-pot nation and you begin to realize how much you don’t know about your own country, for crying out loud, it’s a shame, and you go on Amazon…nay, Chapters.ca because you’re a Canadian, dammit, and you decide now would be a great time to learn about the War of 1812, so you write down the info for the book you want and make plans to buy it later and you’re proud of yourself for not falling into a WikiHole because you have WORK TO DO and your deadline is FAST APPROACHING.
Whew. Back to work. Write a paragraph.
This coffee isn’t strong enough. You’re still sleepy. Maybe grab a quick nap, so you can recharge your creative batteries.
Wake up hours later. Oops. It is dark out. Your deadline is midnight.
Jump on that idea you had, the one about the fuschia monster, and begin to bang the keys. Maybe you should shower. That’s where you do your best thinking. Check the time: you have three hours before your deadline. Okay, a five minute shower. The hot water is relaxing. A fifteen minute shower.
Back at your desk. Throw yourself into the story, try to hit that magical place where you’re seeing the story unfold in your mind’s eye and just capturing it with keystrokes. It’s almost there, dancing maddeningly just out of reach…Check the clock. You have two hours.
Pour it on. Your fingers move without you, like it’s them telling the story, not you, and it’s working, my God it’s working, and you lose yourself in it and you only remember to breathe because some part of your monkeybrain tells you to and you check the clock and it’s down to the last hour. Check your word count. You need twice as many words as you have, so you sit forward and tune out everything around you. The house could burn down around your chair and you would keep typing. You type faster than you even knew you could, and the images and the thoughts flow out of you and it’s like you’re not even there anymore, like the ideas are writing themselves, beamed down from some heavenly Muse and you just have to get the hell out of her way.
Clock check. Half hour. No time for full sentences.
Faster. Sweat prickles. Husband peeks in on the madwoman—Not now! I’ll be human in half an hour!—and you pound the keys and the monster attacks and your hero lives or dies but now is the time to wrap it up, seam the story together and you’re high on the feeling of it and you key the last words in with five minutes to spare.
But you did it. You beat your deadline.
Every time you do this, you tell yourself you’re crazy. Next time you’ll be one of those planners, one of those normal people who don’t kill themselves to race a deadline. You know even as you think it that it won’t happen.
Because you won.
sniderwriter 